


Can't Hold Us

by frecklesarechocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Dean/Cas Happy Endings 2013, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/frecklesarechocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school teacher Dean Winchester's apartment building burns down, and he needs to find a new place to live. Angel Castiel Milton has a fantastic apartment, but he needs someone to help with the rent. They become roommates. When Castiel's family politics become dangerous, Dean is drawn into the affair as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Hold Us

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so so so much to my betas, Lifetimeinfinity, Clotpoleofthelord, Drownedinblissfulconfusion and Colonialdncr. You guys are so fantastically awesome. I can't believe I finished this! The title comes from the song of the same name by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis.

 

The old woman has been watching him for a while now. Her eyes have heavy bags underneath them, and her skin hangs in giant curtains off her neck. Her eyes are dark and piercing, and she's creeping Dean the fuck out.

He's been sitting in the coffee shop for about an hour, trying to grade papers, trying to focus on the truly awful history essays piled in front of him. But it's clear that his students are just not paying attention to a word he says in class.

Which Dean certainly cannot say about the old woman seated in the corner. He's not completely unaware that he's an attractive man - some have even called him pretty, much to his chagrin - but he doesn't think it's that kind of staring. The woman has a speculative look on her face, like she's trying to work something out, and Dean is the key.

Huffing a sigh, Dean packs up the essays. He can't face another one this afternoon, and he's got to get to Sammy's for dinner, anyway. He tosses his used coffee cup into the trash and heads out, but not before checking to see if his watcher is still looking at him.

Her seat is empty.

Dean shrugs and steps out into the busy Chicago street. When he settled there, he hadn't been quite prepared for the cold winters, but over the last couple of years, he'd gotten used to it. He pulls the collar of his wool coat up around his ears and heads for the car, which he'd parked around the corner.

He's so focused on getting out of the wind that he doesn't notice her until he runs smack into her. It's the old woman from the coffee shop, and she gives a soft grunt as the force of the impact with Dean forces her back a few steps.

Dean's torn between irritation and horror. He just nearly knocked over a little old lady, for crying out loud! On the other hand, the creepy staring and the following? Yeah, not cool.

"I'm sorry," he says, holding out a hand to steady her. She slaps it away impatiently, peering up at him, eyes narrow.

She's quite short, barely reaching up to Dean's chest. He's surprised that he didn't send her sprawling on the pavement.

"Shut up," she says, and Dean is thrown for a loop. Not exactly the response he'd been expecting.

"What?" he asks.

She doesn't answer, instead resuming her staring. Dean tries to take a step back, but she grabs onto his wrist and holds on, her grip surprisingly strong.

"Uh, lady?" Dean tries again, but she shushes him once more. She takes his chin between her fingers and turns his head from side to side. She's mumbling to herself, so quietly that Dean can't tell what she's saying, although he suspects that it's not even English.

He tries to move back, a bit more insistent this time, but her grip is iron, and he can't break away.

Finally, her attention focusses on Dean, and she smiles, a horrible gap-toothed thing that Dean fervently hopes he'll never have to see again.

"It is you," she says, and there's a hushed awe to her voice, as if she'd seen something - someone - she'd been searching for. Before Dean can explain to her that, no, he's not at all who she thinks he is, she's talking again. "It's coming, you know. You'll never be the same." She pauses, as if she's not sure whether she should say anything else, but then she says, "You'll find each other."

And before Dean can say anything, she lets go of him and walks away. Dean is left with the feel of her papery skin on his, wrist and jaw tingling slightly as if he'd just been given an electric shock by someone shuffling over carpet in their stocking feet.

He turns around to ask her what she meant, but whatever he was going to say dies on his lips.

She had disappeared again.

* * *

 

"What'd she say to you?" Sam asks as he shuffles through his cabinet looking for a new bottle of salad dressing.

Dean rubs his eyes with his hand, feeling exhausted and inexplicably old. "Something about how it's coming. I'll never be the same, and then 'you'll find each other.'" Sam just raises his brows, but says nothing, inherently understanding that Dean will get to what he wants to say eventually, and then he'll talk again.

"I don't know dude. You know me, I don't believe in this shit," Dean says finally. Sam makes a noncommittal noise as he pulls their dinner from the oven - a roast chicken whose scent has been wafting deliciously through Sam's small apartment since Dean arrived. Dean's stomach rumbles in anticipation, and Sam laughs at Dean's predictable response.

Dean gets a couple of plates from the cupboard and hands them to Sam who's already carving up the chicken. They sit at Sam's kitchen table, a rickety round thing that has seen better days, but it's Sam's. He loves it because it's the first piece of furniture that he purchased with his first paycheck after graduating law school. He folds his long body into the chair and Dean joins him at the table.

They eat quietly for a few minutes, enjoying the food and each other's company. Sam breaks the comfortable silence. "What do you think it means?"

"Nothing, Sammy. It doesn't mean anything. She's just some crazy old lady," Dean says. But Dean can tell that Sam's not convinced, not really, and he holds up a hand. "Just leave it, Sam. It was just something weird that happened. Don't make a federal case of it."

Sam backs off. "Fine. If that's what you want."

“Yes, it's what I want, Sam. Can we just eat?" Sam rolls his eyes at Dean, but goes back to eating.

Dean hangs out for about an hour after dinner, and then heads back home. Tomorrow is a school day, after all, and he's got to get up at the crack of dawn. He hugs Sam, clapping him on the back and squeezing him a little more closely than he normally would. He’s just a bit more thrown off by the events of the afternoon that he’s willing to let on vocally.

Dean is so immersed in his thoughts as he drives home that he doesn't notice the fire trucks and other emergency vehicles in his street until he's a few houses down from his apartment building. He's stopped by a street cop, who knocks loudly on Dean's window as he sits inside the car gaping at his building.

Or rather, what's left of his building.

"You live here?" The cop asks.

Dean nods, incapable of producing any sound.

"See some ID?"

Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. Handing his license to the cop, he's finally able to reconnect his mouth to his brain and summon up a question. "What happened?"

Although it's quite clear what happened. The building caught fire and burnt to the ground. There's almost nothing left except for some charred supports and a huge pile of debris.

"Gas main explosion. Whole building went up like a powder keg. Luckily it happened on a relatively nice day. Almost nobody home, and the injured are at the hospital." The cop gives the license a once over and hands it back to Dean. "You got someplace to stay? The city has some shelters set up, but since it's supposed to dip below 20 again tonight, they'll be kinda full."

Dean makes several attempts to slide his license back into his wallet, and gives up when his fingers won't cooperate. "Yeah. Yeah, I can stay with my brother," he says. "Is everyone going to be okay?" He thinks of Missouri Moseley, his immediate neighbor, whose tongue was as sharp as a razor. But she also had a good heart, and always looked out for Dean.

"Yeah, why, you friendly with any of the folks in the building?"

"A few," Dean responds.

"They were all taken to Mercy. You can visit 'em tomorrow, let 'em know you're okay, assure yourself they're okay at the same time." The cop smiles then, a soft, pitying look. "You need to move on, Mr. Winchester. They'll need to move the emergency vehicles in a bit, and you can't be in the way."

Dean nods distractedly and puts the car into reverse, backing slowly out of the street. He finds a parking spot and pulls into it. He rests his head on the steering wheel. Everything he owned except for the clothing on his back, the goddamn essays in his satchel and his laptop were in that apartment. Now what?

Of course, Dean heads to Sam's. He's knocking on the door just over an hour after he left. Sam opens the door wearing pajama pants and a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

"Dean?! What are you doing here?"

Dean shakes his head and pushes his way past Sam into the tiny apartment. He plops down on the couch and put his head in his hands.

"Dean?" Sam asks, a worried tone creeping into his voice.

"There was a fire, Sammy," Dean says, his voice rough with exhaustion and stress. "My apartment building is toast." He tries not to let the fire bring back memories of another one, one that had happened so long ago that he didn't know whether what he pictured in his head were his memories, or the memories of what his father had told him.

Sam, who had stepped back into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth, pokes his head out of the room and stares at Dean. "Wait, what did you say?"

"Gas explosion. The building burned to the ground." Dean heads into the kitchen to rummage in the refrigerator. "Got any beer?" He looks in disgust at the various vegetables and fruits that lined every shelf. Finally he spies a lonely bottle at the back, behind a few yellow bell peppers and an enormous bag of salad. He grabs it and opens it, taking a long pull from the bottle before returning to the living room.

"Was anyone hurt?" Sam asks, returning to the living room. He's pulling a black t-shirt over his head.

"Some injuries, yeah. I know which hospital they're in, so I'll check them out tomorrow." Dean rubs his eyes. "Can I stay here for a few nights? I know your place is small, but I just need a place to crash while I look for another apartment." He takes another long swig of beer.

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean, of course. You can stay as long as you want. Let me..." Sam stands. "Let me get you some sheets and towels. You going to work tomorrow?"

Dean groans. He hadn't even thought about that, more concerned about getting back to Sammy's and making sure he had a place to lay his head. "No. Yes, I have to. It's too late to call in for a sub, I won't get anyone decent." He looks down at his jeans and t-shirt. "Hey, did I leave that spare set of clothes here?"

Sam nods and grabs a small gym bag out of the hall closet. Dean busies himself with making up the couch, spreading out one of the sheets that Sam had unearthed. He pulls the various throw pillows off the couch and tosses them on the floor. "Really, Sam? Five throw pillows?"

Sam shrugs and puts them in a neat pile in the corner of the room. "They came with the couch. Listen, you can stay as long as you need, okay? I'm just... I'm just glad you're okay."

Dean shifts uncomfortably under Sam's gaze, the puppy look that Sam usually affects at moments like these. Dean hates moments. Dean doesn't do moments. He tries to shrug it off, but Sam is having none of it. He steps over the gym bag and hugs Dean tightly.

Dean pats Sam's back reluctantly, not willing to admit that the hug feels good, that being squeezed tightly grounds him a bit. "Oh-okay, Sam, thanks." Mostly, Dean just wants to go to sleep. "I just need some shut eye, and then I'll be good."

Sam holds onto Dean for another second, and then lets go. "Okay, okay. Have a good night." Sam heads down the short hallway to his room and shuts the door.

Dean heaves a giant sigh and strips down to his boxers. He turns out the lights and settles onto the couch, flinging his arm over his eyes.

It's been a very long and freaky day, and Dean's not sure he's ever going to be able to get to sleep. Thoughts fly through his mind about all the things he knows he has to do in the next few days to replace his clothing, get started on insurance issues, find a new place to live. Each item on his list of things to do brings up two more right behind it, and before he knows it, he's got a list a mile long and he's nearly worked himself into a full blown panic attack.

He mutters to himself and punches the pillow a few times before rolling over. It's a very long time before he falls asleep.

* * *

 

It was a rough night. Dean was awake much more than he was asleep, and most of the night his brain was on overdrive, sifting through all the things that he would have to do over the next few days to get his life back to something that even slightly resembled normal.

When his alarm goes off, Dean feels about as crappy as he's ever felt without having the benefit of a night out partying. He groans as he heaves himself off the couch and shuffles into Sam's bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror, taking in his bloodshot eyes, bruise dark splotches underneath and his overly pale face and reconsiders whether or not to request a substitute for the day. But, school starts in about an hour and he's got to have something to do with his time, so he splashes some water on his face and uses Sam's toothbrush, trying not to think just how gross it is to use someone else’s toothbrush. He tells himself that going to work with morning breath would be far worse, and things right now are bad enough.

Dean makes it through the day - barely - and Victor Henriksen, the building principal, finds him at his desk, his head in his hands after all the buses have left and the normally loud hallways are so silent you can hear someone coming from a mile away.

Victor taps lightly on the door to Dean's classroom and enters, pulling out one of the chairs from a student desk. He turns it around and sits, legs straddling the back of the chair and arms resting on the seatback.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" Victor asks after a moment. "You look like crap warmed over, and I heard a couple of the kids talking in the hallway - they're worried about you."

Dean tries to smile at that, glad to know that his students care enough about him to talk about him in the hallways enough that the principal would overhear it. He loved his students, and was secretly pleased to know that they were worried about him.

"My apartment building burned down last night. Spent the night at Sammy's." He rubs at his eyes, barely able to keep them open.

Victor's forehead creases in concern. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, man. You need anything, let me know." Victor eyes Dean, his look piercing. "You got anything other than the clothes on your back?"

Dean looks down at the rumpled green shirt and khaki pants that he'd stuffed in the duffle for Sam's apartment ages ago and shrugs. "Other than the t-shirt and jeans I wore yesterday, no. I was going to go shopping this afternoon." He frowns. "But I've also got to call the insurance company, and..."

But Victor cuts him off before Dean can get started on his litany. "Tell me what you need. I'll head over to Target and pick enough up to get you through the week. Need a razor?" Victor nods meaningfully at the scruff growing on Dean's chin.

Dean chuckles. He runs his hand over his cheeks and feels the longish stubble between his fingers. Yeah, he's let it go too long - he hadn't shaved over the weekend. "Please. And a toothbrush."

Victor makes a face. "I don't want to know how you brushed your teeth this morning, do I?" Dean just shakes his head, a rueful smile brushing the corners of his mouth, glad for a light moment, however small it might be. Victor gets up and replaces the chair, tossing a wave over his shoulder as he goes, promising to head over to Sam's apartment after he picks up clothes for Dean.

Dean lays his forehead down on the desk for a minute or two before inhaling deeply and pulling out his cellphone to begin the unending list of phone calls to insurance agents.

It's really a whole lot of fun being an adult, he thinks wryly.

* * *

 

"Castiel, I don't understand why you live in this huge apartment all by yourself," Gabriel says as he examines a small statue of a bird on the mantlepiece. Castiel's living room is enormous, and everything in it is so immaculately clean that it's almost like a furniture store showroom. Each piece has just the right accent - the overstuffed couch with the three throw pillows placed just so, the armchair with the artfully draped blanket. There's even one of those really strange wicker things shaped like a ball on top of the coffee table.

Nothing about the room fits Castiel's personality. But then, not much about the apartment does. It's as if someone else staged the apartment to be shown by a realtor, and when Castiel moved in, he was told to leave everything exactly as it was, and so he did.

Actually, Gabriel thinks, that might not be so far from the truth.

Castiel gives Gabriel a look - his eyes roll halfway heavenward, but he doesn't deign to respond to his brother. He's found that over the years it's best to let Gabriel have free reign until he's completely finished and then just continue on as before. Gabriel will have his say regardless of what Castiel says anyway.

As if to prove this true, Gabriel continues. "I mean, seriously, this room is huge, you've got three bedrooms and what, two bathrooms? And it's just you in here?"

"There's the cat," Castiel feels the need to point out. The animal in question is sleeping on the enormous arm chair. As if sensing that he was part of the conversation, he raises his head sleepily and squints in Gabriel's direction.

Gabriel snorts. "That cat needs less space than you do. Neither of you can really justify this much space."

Castiel looks around the apartment. he likes his apartment, very much. He does understand why Gabriel objects to it - it is quite Spartan, and not at all designed to Castiel's taste, but he doesn't really know what his taste is, not really, and frankly, he doesn't have the time nor the patience to try to figure out what that is.

Besides, there's something kind of soothing about coming home to this place and knowing that everything has its place. The clean lines of the furniture and decorations feel almost relaxing to Castiel, and he doesn't particularly want to change anything about it.

Except that he must, because while the apartment had been rent controlled for a while, Castiel's lease is about to be up and he'll have to renew at a much, much higher monthly cost.

"I don't want to move, Gabriel," Castiel says after a few moments.

Gabriel's expression softens. "I know, bro, but I can't help you. And you know that Michael won't. So you can either get a new place, smaller, which would be the sensible route, or you can get a roommate." Gabriel grimaces and looks at his shoes. "I can't believe that I just suggested that you do something sensible."

Castiel smiles. Because usually Castiel is the one in the family who does the sensible thing without encouraged to. But Castiel is irrational about this apartment. He likes the apartment. It is his home. It's not quite complete, he doesn't think, but it's still his home. "I don't know that getting a roommate is a good idea, Gabriel."

Gabriel shakes his head. "Bro, you can't hide forever. The prophecy is going to come true whether or not you're here in your... Fortress of Solitude. If you want to keep the place, you're going to have to get a roommate." Castiel opens his mouth to reply, and Gabriel holds up a hand. "And before you ask, no, I will not move in with you. Remember the last time?"

Castiel did. The last time the two of them had shared a living space they'd ended up not speaking to each other for nearly a year. Gabriel could be a bit of a slob, and Castiel did not have the patience for that. They fought. Over everything from candy wrappers on the coffee table to towels on the floor of the bathroom to empty milk cartons put back in the refrigerator.

Castiel nods in Gabriel's direction, acknowledging that the two of them as roomies would be a terrible idea.

"Tell you what, little bro," Gabriel says, his golden eyes sparkling. "I'll help you out. You place the ad, and I'll do the interviews. Sound good?"

Castiel thinks about this for a few minutes, wondering how many different ways this could go wrong, but then decides that he's going to have to find a roommate regardless, so he might as well take up Gabriel's offer.

"Sounds good," Castiel responds. "Thank you, Gabriel."

Gabriel smiles and winks. "Don't thank me. I haven't done anything yet. When you've got the perfect roommate: then you can thank me."

* * *

 

"Mr. Winchester?" a young voice, hesitant, comes from the doorway to his classroom.

Dean looks up and sees Samandriel standing in the door, looking as if he's not sure if he wants to disturb Dean. Dean waves his hand indicating that the young man can enter the room.

"What's up, Samandriel?" Dean asks. Samandriel is one of his favorite students (not that he would admit to having any favorites, because that's just not the kind of thing teachers do out loud). Samandriel comes into the room, lugging an enormous backpack behind him. He drops it on the floor in front of Dean's desk and scratches the back of his neck.

"Well, we, uh..." Samandriel begins, but he seems reluctant to continue.

Dean can hear that there are a few other students in the hallway, and one of them hisses loudly at Samandriel, "Just ask him!" Dean thinks he recognizes Emma's voice, but he's not sure.

Samandriel's cheeks flare red for a moment and then he straightens. "We were wondering if you were okay." Samandriel manages to squeak out, staring at his shoes.

Dean hides a grin behind his hand, because as rotten as his last two days have been, this is the reason that he teaches, and this is the reason why he doesn't understand why more people don't leap at the opportunity to do this job. Teenagers can make him crazy, but they're also some of the best people on the planet.

"Yeah, I'm okay, thanks Samandriel." Dean raises his voice. "And Emma, and whoever else is out in the hallway."

There's a chorus of laughter, and someone - Dean thinks it's Inias - whispers, "Busted!", and then there are three more students tumbling into his room. He was right, it was Inias, and along with him and Emma is Hester, a pretty young girl who's been making eyes at Samandriel since October. Samandriel has been oblivious to this fact.

"Hi guys," Dean says as they crowd around his desk. Hester and Emma look worried, their mouths pulled down in concerned pouts, and Inias seems content to hang back behind the other three, looking with interest at the various maps and posters that Dean has decorated his classroom with.

"Mr. Winchester, are you okay, really?" Hester asks earnestly. "You just look...tired." Hester shrugs.

"Thanks, Hester, that does a lot for my ego."

Hester's mouth drops open and she looks horrified. "Oh NO! That's not what I meant at all. Oh gosh, Mr. Winchester, I'm really sorry," she babbles. Dean holds up a hand.

"It's okay, Hester. I was just teasing." He looks at the four of them, making sure to capture their eyes with his own. "I'm okay, really. There was a fire at my apartment, but I'm okay, and my neighbors are okay. Just a few lost things, that's all."

The students gasp, each of them offering condolences. Emma pipes up. "Do you need a place to stay? I could ask my mom, I bet it'd be okay for you to come stay with us." It's as if the words pop out of her mouth before she can control them, because she slaps her fingers over her mouth as soon as they've been uttered.

"I appreciate the offer, Emma, but I'm fine. I'm staying with my brother for a few days." Dean does his best not to notice the disappointed look that flits across Emma’s face, swallowing uncomfortably at the knowledge that Emma (and several other of his students) harbored what was probably an enormous crush on him.

Inias, normally very quiet and reserved, says, "If there's anything else you need, Mr. Winchester..." his voice is pitched low and it rumbles incongruously through his slender frame. Terribly shy, it took him several weeks to finally open up in class, but as the school year has progressed, he's come out of his shell bit by bit.

"Thank you, Inias, I really appreciate that." Dean swells with pride as he observes his students chatting with each other, teasing and swapping conversational exchanges in the secret language of teenagers. As a teacher, he's privy to some of it, but they still manage to hide much of their world even from him. However, it's clear that they feel not just a measure of comfort around him, but also some affection as well, as they discuss ideas for how they can help him.

"Guys, this isn't necessary, really. I've got a lot of options and resources, thanks," Dean breaks in, not wanting them to spend more time on him than is really necessary. He raises his brows at them. "And don't you have homework to do? I seem to recall some reading assigned to you by your history teacher..."

Samandriel laughs. "What?! Reading? In history class? Surely you must be joking."

Dean plays along. "I never joke about history, and don't call me Shirley." They burst into laughter at the old gag, and toss their goodbyes over their shoulders as they file out of the room.

All in all, Dean thinks, he's got it pretty good, despite recent setbacks. He's going to have to start thinking about finding alternate living arrangements, though. He can't sleep on Sam's couch for too much longer - it's just not long enough, and it's really uncomfortable.

Dean grabs his satchel and locks up, heading out into the crisp evening. He's got a lot of work to do if he's going to find a new place to live.

* * *

 

Dean hates hospitals. No memory that he has of being in a hospital is a good one - from the time Sammy had to have his appendix out to when he broke his leg and finally when his dad died. Although he was twenty-seven at the time, losing his dad had unmoored him in ways he hadn't expected.

John Winchester was a difficult, demanding father who had high expectations for his sons; expectations for how they should live and how they should behave. Dean, for most of his life, had conformed to those expectations, from what he studied in school to going out for baseball in high school and attending the college that had recruited him to play. Sam had been the one to rebel against John from the beginning, refusing to do as John had asked - no - demanded. It had led to an enormous fallout that resulted in Sam and John refusing to see or speak to each other for nearly four years.

That fight hadn't even been about Sam and what he wanted, but rather what Dean wanted. Dean, who had studied mechanical engineering for two years at school, played baseball and spoke reluctantly with triple A recruiters for the minor leagues had actually wanted none of it. His only rebellion up until then had been a minor in history. Sam spent much of his final two years of high school fighting with John to get him to let Dean study what he wanted: to let him become the teacher that Sam was convinced Dean was destined to be.

The broken leg had been both a godsend and a curse - a curse because the compound fracture had exacerbated his already bowed legs and made his leg painful on cold days. It was a godsend because it meant an end to his baseball career, not that it was really going anywhere. Most recruiters would have been taking a big leap of faith on him when he was hale and healthy. When news of his broken leg came out, the recruiters melted away like snow on an early spring day.

Dean decided then that he had absolutely no interest in becoming an engineer, mechanical or otherwise. He hobbled into his advisor's office on his crutches as soon as he was mobile and switched majors at the end of the spring semester of his junior year. He worked throughout the summer and fall semesters catching up on the necessary prerequisites, and still managed to squeeze in the required education classes. He'd worked like a fiend, but it paid off, and he graduated at the end of the following summer, only needing one extra semester to finish up.

But Dean had both a teaching and a history degree, and enthusiastic references from his student teaching experience. When he met Victor Henricksen, principal of Lakeside High School, Henricksen had practically hired him on the spot.

John was angry. Dean couldn't remember seeing him that angry, not since Sammy was six and Dean had been left in charge of him. Sammy had fallen ill - his appendix bursting in the ambulance on the way to the hospital because Dean hadn't been home when Sam first felt poorly. The confrontation with John in the waiting room - the hissed anger that John directed at Dean had crushed in on him, trampling  Dean’s already withering sense of self.

Entering Mercy hospital that evening brings a shiver to Dean's spine, goosebumps appearing on his arms despite the warm wool peacoat he's wearing. The nurse at the reception desk directs him to the fifth floor where several of his neighbors are still recuperating from smoke inhalation.

Dean hesitates outside Missouri Moseley's door, uncertain whether he wants to disturb her. She's lying on her side, her back to the door, and it looks as if she's sleeping. Dean's about to turn away when Missouri's voice reaches his ears. "Get in here, boy!"

Dean smiles to himself - while her voice is cracked and dry from the smoke, it is strong, holding the same vigor that he's used to hearing out of her. He walks in, a small violet plant with a bright pink ribbon in his hand. He sets it on the nightstand next to her bed and pulls over a chair.

"How are you?" Missouri croaks.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Dean asks.

Missouri waves her hand, irritated with social conventions that are more about shoulds and appearances than they are about true friendship.

Dean inhales, surprised at the shaky quality of his breath. "As good as can be expected, I guess. You?"

Missouri looks at him - the look that she often tosses his way, the one that shows just what she thinks of his intelligence sometimes. "What do you think?"

Dean nods. "Yeah."

They sit silently for a moment, and then Missouri grabs his hand. "The whole building's gone, isn't it?" her voice has descended to a rough whisper, more from the damage done to her throat than because of any emotional response. Dean nods, not really trusting himself to answer verbally.

Missouri is philosophical, however. She shrugs it off. "They were just things, Dean. We can replace things. Can't replace people." It's an echo of what Dean had said to his students earlier, and he finds that he can agree a bit more easily when it's coming from Missouri than his own mouth.

He stays a little while longer, but it's clear that Missouri is fading and needs to rest, so Dean kisses her softly on her cheek and promises to visit again the next day. She looks both startled and pleased at the sign of affection and the promise.

Dean checks his cell and sees that there's a message from Victor - he's got a bunch of clothing and toiletries for him, so Dean calls him back and agrees to meet him for a bite to eat before he heads back over to Sam's.

Not only has Victor bought Dean clothes for work, he's also gotten a bunch of more casual outfits, including some jeans and a few t-shirts. When Dean offers to repay him, Victor just frowns at him and says, "Put your wallet away, Winchester. You're money's no good with me." Dean feels uncomfortable about accepting charity from his boss, but shrugs, realizing that this is not a battle he will ever win.

By the time Dean gets back to Sam's place, it's nearly 7:30, and Dean is exhausted. He had hardly gotten any sleep the night before, and it was taking its toll on him. Sam's not home yet, working late, according to a text Dean had gotten earlier, so Dean gets ready for bed and crawls under the covers on the couch. Sam's left the classified ads on the coffee table with a note that just says "When you're ready. No rush, but thought you'd like to start looking for another place."

Part of Dean knows that Sam's right - that he can't stay with Sam forever, not in this tiny apartment, and certainly not on Sam's couch which is really not meant to be used as a bed. Dean is camping out in the living room, not really living, and he does need his own space. He sighs and pulls the paper towards him. He grabs a pen and pulls off the cap with his teeth, leaving it between them as he looks through the ads.

None of them are really that enticing, until he finds a small one tucked away in the bottom corner of the third page:

Wanted: tidy roommate for spacious, airy, three bedroom apartment. Must like cats.

It mentions a pretty swanky neighborhood not too far from Dean's school, and the listed rent is more than reasonable. Dean circles it, thinking that while he's mildly allergic to cats, it certainly can't hurt to check out the place, especially if it truly is spacious. He resolves to call the listed number tomorrow, and turns out the lamp, leaving the hall light burning for Sam's return.

He's asleep almost as soon as he closes his eyes.

* * *

 

Dean's appointment with the apartment guy is right after school, so he hustles his students out of the classroom, promising to stay late the next day if they need any help. He knows that most of them don't need the help, they just want a place to hang out after school, so he only feels a little bit guilty about leaving early.

He arrives at the coffee shop where they'd agreed to meet just a few minutes early, so he orders a cup of coffee in and settles in a table facing the door. He's uncomfortably reminded of the confrontation with the woman from the other day, and he distractedly rubs his wrist where she had grabbed onto him as if he can still feel the bony fingers clutching him.

The guy he's meeting - Gabriel - is fifteen minutes late. Dean is wondering whether he should go when a guy with medium brown hair swaggers into the coffee shop. He's wearing jeans and an olive green jacket with a sticker placed over his heart that reads "Hello, my name is GABRIEL" printed in careful letters.

He scans the coffee house, winking at one of the employees, and then grinning when his eyes light on Dean. He saunters over and sits down.

"Please tell me you're Dean Winchester."

Dean nods, trying to keep a grimace off his face, because this brash, flirty bundle of energy is exactly the kind of roommate that Dean does not want. He imagines that Gabriel probably keeps irregular hours and invites all manner of people over all the time, holding loud parties. This is the person who wants a tidy roommate?

However, Dean is here, so he might as well get the interview over with.

He sticks out his hand and puts on his best friendly smile, the one he uses on parents on Back to School Night. "Nice to meet you."

Gabriel grasps Dean's hand in his own and holds on just a fraction too long. Something flashes in his golden eyes, but it's gone before Dean can identify it.

They chat idly for a little while, and Dean's irrationally glad to hear that Gabriel is doing the interview for his brother. Dean relaxes a bit after that, and falls into easy conversation with Gabriel. Now that he knows that Gabriel isn't his potential roommate, Dean likes Gabriel. He's funny and sharp, but Dean just can't imagine sharing a living space with the guy.

"My brother's the quiet type, really," Gabriel says. "I love Castiel, but sometimes I feel like he could use a little loosening up."

Dean arches an eyebrow. "Castiel? That's unusual."

Gabriel grins, but there’s something behind the grin that’s not quite real. "Yeah - our parents were angel freaks. There's Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, me, Anna and little Castiel."

Dean whistles. "Big family." And then, as he realizes, "Lucifer?"

Gabriel snorts into his hot chocolate. "Yeah, poor Luci. He got burdened with the worst of the bunch. He's a great guy though, most of the time. You know how big brothers can be."

Dean shakes his head. "You'll have to ask my brother Sam that," he says. "I'm the oldest."

Gabriel nods and shoves his empty cup aside. "Guess we should get started on the interview, huh?" Dean nods and sits up a little straighter in his seat.

"You a morning person?"

Dean shrugs. "Not especially, but I have to get up early for work, so..."

"You basically a clean guy? Not a slob?"

Dean smiles. "I clean up after myself. When it's my space I like to be tidy."

Gabriel nods, a stern expression on his face. "Ok, very important question here. There's one piece of candy left in the candy bowl. It's your favorite kind...what's your favorite candy?" Gabriel peers at Dean for a moment. "Never mind. It's a KitKat. Anyway, do you take it?"

Dean blinks. "Uh. Did I buy the candy?" Dean answers, thinking that this is probably the weirdest question he's ever gotten in an interview. He has no idea what the right answer is.

"Does it change your answer if you didn't?"

Dean smiles, feeling a measure of relief. This part he thinks he can answer. "Yes. If I didn't buy it, but... Castiel? did, then it's not mine to take."

Gabriel eyes Dean for a solid minute, and Dean grows antsy under the scrutiny. He can't tell if this is the right answer or not. Gabriel seems to decide something and moves on to the next question.

"Paper or plastic?"

"Seriously?" Dean asks.

Gabriel just fixes his gaze on Dean and waits for the answer.

"Uh. Whatever the store has. I generally don't care."

Gabriel grunts. "Do you believe in fate?"

"What?"

"Fate. Karma. Destiny. Kismet. Providence. Prophecy. Any of that stuff?" Gabriel leans forward now, and Dean can tell that he's serious. That whatever other questions he may have asked, he was probably joking, but not this question. To Gabriel, this question is probably the most important one. His eyes are dark now, and Dean realizes that this man could be very dangerous if crossed.

He swallows thickly. "I've never really given it much thought, to be honest." Dean hesitates and thinks about it for a moment. "I think I'd have to say no, I don't believe in  any of that stuff. I don't think that anything was meant to be. Because some pretty shitty stuff has happened in the world, and I'd hate to think that it was part of some grand design, because that would mean that someone planned it. And if someone planned all the shitty things that have happened in the world? That's messed up." Dean stops, thinking he's blown the interview, he won't get a chance to see this amazing apartment, and that he'll be right back where he started.

But he's also thinking about his mom, and how she died in that fire when he was four. If that was part of someone's big plan, then that really fucking sucked. Because that meant that Sammy never knew his mom, and Dean only got to spend four short years with her. Most of those memories are hazy, and he clings to them with all his might. The idea that it was meant to happen? No, Dean decides, that's not a world he wants to be a part of.

He realizes that he's drifted off in his head while thinking about his mom, and that Gabriel is watching him closely. Dean looks back, trying his best not to blanch under Gabriel's stare.

Finally, Gabriel grins, and holds out his hand. "Let's go meet my little brother, shall we?"

* * *

 

About an hour after Gabriel leaves for the interview with the potential roommate (late, of course), Castiel changes his mind. He doesn't want a roommate, and he certainly doesn't want Gabriel to be the one to choose the roommate. No, he'd rather find another place to live than have to open himself up to anyone new.

Having decided that, he grabs his coat and keys and heads toward the elevator. He's just locking up when the elevator dings and he hears Gabriel talking to someone inside. The person responds to whatever it is that Gabriel has said, and his voice is deep and smooth, a little dark, reminding Castiel of coffee. He turns around, realizing that, of course, this must be the potential roommate, and Gabriel must approve, which is why they're standing in front of him in the hallway.

"Hey bro! Where ya headed?" Gabriel says. He claps his hand on Castiel's shoulder, and it's just hard enough, letting Castiel know that he's busted, that Gabriel knows exactly what Castiel had been planning on. Gabriel waggles his eyebrows at Castiel, and half turns away, hand still holding Castiel's shoulder in an iron grip. "Castiel, this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is my little brother, Castiel Milton."

Dean smiles and holds out his hand, and Castiel has to make himself move his own hand toward the other man's, because he's stunned. Dean is... well, he's beautiful. He has enormous green eyes with long eyelashes and his cheeks are freckled lightly. His mouth is full and plush, and he is nicely filled out in the shoulders and chest - he clearly takes care of himself, but isn't necessarily vain about working out. Dean grasps his hand and Castiel is aware of how warm the other man's hand is, and how Dean's grip has just the right amount of strength behind it - strong enough to let Castiel know that Dean is not a wet fish, but not so strong that it becomes a contest of wills. Dean is saying something, but Castiel isn't really paying attention to the words that come out of Dean's mouth so much as he's paying attention to the way in which Dean's mouth moves.

Oh, he is so screwed.

Gabriel squeezes Castiel's shoulder just a bit too hard, causing him to wince. Gabriel nods his head meaningfully at Castiel's hand, and he realizes that he's still holding onto Dean, and that Dean is looking at him expectantly, as if he's meant to say something here. Castiel stammers out something that might be a greeting, and then he lets go of Dean's hand reluctantly. His palm still tingles a bit where it touched Dean.

"Well, great! Now that we've got the greetings finished with, why don't you give Dean the tour, Castiel?" Gabriel steers Castiel back toward the door to the apartment. Castiel pulls his keys back out of his pocket and unlocks the door. He stands aside to let Dean into the apartment and glares at Gabriel fiercely behind Dean's back.

Gabriel leans over. "You're welcome," he whispers. Then, more loudly, "Well, little bro, looks like my part is done. I'll leave you two to get to know each other a bit better. Cheers!" Gabriel saunters toward the elevator, and then swings into the door to the stairs, opting for a more dramatic exit. Castiel shakes his head ruefully. He's not sure that he's ever seen Gabriel exit or enter a room in a way that wasn't dramatic.

Inside the apartment, Dean is standing in the middle of the living room and looking around, awestruck. The place is, to put it simply, amazing. It's a corner apartment, so there are windows on two walls, and they are floor-to-ceiling windows. The room is bright, airy and very pleasant.

The main room is actually a combination living room/dining room, with an archway between the two, creating an open floor plan. The kitchen is also open, with a breakfast bar separating it from the dining room. When guests are over, the host can be in the kitchen cooking and still converse with guests who are seated in the dining room, and not worry about having too many people getting in the way.

"Wow," Dean says. "This is an amazing space."

Come on, Milton, Castiel says to himself, stop staring like a schoolgirl with a crush. You're an adult. Castiel straightens his shoulders and steps into the living room to stand near Dean. "Yes, I like it very much. Would you like a tour?" Dean nods, and Castiel shows him the small bedroom off of the living/dining area. Castiel's turned it into a study because it's not quite large enough to be a bedroom. It’s got a small desk with a reading lamp, plus a tidy bookshelf. "This is my study. it's where I do most of my work."

"What do you do?" Dean asks after he's looked around the room. It's Spartan, much like the rest of the apartment, but there are small hints of Castiel's personality: on the desk is a small penguin pencil holder, and an old coffee mug with a ring of dried coffee at the bottom. Castiel notices Dean's eye on the cup, and he coughs nervously and picks it up, hiding it behind his back. He puts it in the sink as they walk back through the main room and down the hall to the two main bedrooms.

"I'm a writer," Castiel replies. Dean waits for more, perhaps on the kind of writer Castiel is, but when none is forthcoming, he just shrugs and lets Castiel continue the tour.

The master bedroom and the second bedroom are side by side, each with their own bathroom. Castiel waves his hand at the master bedroom. "This is my room." It's enormous, with a huge, king-sized bed in the center. It's neatly made with two throw pillows artfully placed at the head of the bed, and an extra blanket folded at the end. The room is decorated in a soothing, cool slate blue, and the windows, not nearly as large as those in the living room, let in enough light so that the room is not dark and gloomy. There are only a few pictures in the room, clustered over a tall dresser, and on the nightstand next to the bed is a small pile of books with a pen and a pad of paper.

The second bedroom is not quite as large as the master bedroom, and at the moment there's a medium sized couch and a bookcase in it. It looks as if it was used as a guest room in the past, as the bookcase has novels and coffee table books on it, books designed to entertain an overnight guest who neglected to bring anything to read with them. It, too, has large windows and is light and airy, but unlike the master bedroom, has not been painted any special color. It seems to be the standard, offwhite that most apartments are painted.

"If you do decide to move in, I'll remove the bookcase and the couch. And if you'd like, you can paint it any color you want." Castiel moves over to the closet and opens it, peering inside with interest, as if he had never been in the room himself, and was curious about what it offered. The closet was also spacious, with shelving on one end and a built in shoe rack on the inside of the door. The attached bathroom has two entrances, one through the hallway and the other through the room. If there were people over to dinner, this would be the bathroom that they would use.

"This place is amazing," Dean says again. He's stunned by the sheer size and scope of the apartment. He's also incredibly curious about Castiel - what kind of writer is he? How on earth can he afford to live here, even at a rent controlled rate?

Castiel smiles for the first time, a small, but genuine smile that reaches beyond just the sides of his mouth all the way up to his eyes. It's a flattering look, Dean thinks, and he suddenly finds himself wanting to find more ways to make this enigma of a man smile more often.

"I do like it very much, yes. That's why I'm hoping to find a roommate," Castiel says, nodding toward the living room. They sit on the large couch, and the cat, who is asleep on the overstuffed arm chair raises its head to examine the new human in the household. The cat gets up and stretches languidly and then stalks over to Dean to sniff at his shoes.

"That's Ash," Castiel says, indicating the cat. The cat is actually a charcoal grey, so the name is fitting, and its eyes are bright green against the dark color of its fur. "He's pretty friendly most of the time, and he won't bother you once he's used to you."

Dean nods, and holds out his hand so the cat can sniff him. Dean’s nose tickles a bit, but not so badly that his allergies might preclude living here. The cat spends a few minutes sniffing at Dean's hand, and then decides he's had enough, so goes back to the arm chair. He begins to wash himself thoroughly with his back pointedly turned away from Castiel and Dean.

"So, what do you think?" Castiel asks.

Dean hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then is nodding his head before he has the chance to second guess himself. Castiel seems like a quiet, neat person who would be a good roommate. There's the potential for fussiness, Dean can see, but there was also the dirty coffee mug in the study. Castiel may be exacting, but isn't completely rigid, from what Dean can tell. "If you'd be okay with it, I'd love to live here. It's not too far from my school, so it's convenient, and it’s awesome."  The apartment is indeed large enough that they wouldn't have to be in each other's way if they didn't want to be.

Castiel's nodding his agreement before Dean has even finished speaking. "Yes, I'm okay with it. When would you be able to get your things moved in?"

"I don't have any furniture, actually. There was a fire in my building over the weekend. So I just have some clothing, my laptop and my car." Dean thinks for a moment.

Castiel makes the appropriate social noises about how sorry he is about the fire, and then mentions that the couch is actually a pull-out couch with a fairly decent mattress. "I had to get a pretty nice one, because Raphael always used to complain about the old one whenever he stayed over." Castiel makes a face, but it's gone almost before Dean can catch the expression. "He can be particular."

Realizing that he might be sharing too much information with someone who is, for all intents and purposes, still a stranger, Castiel shuts his mouth with a click and then stands. "I'll get a set of keys made, and have them waiting for you at the desk. Will you stay here tonight?"

Dean considers it, but then decides that he'd like a few more nights at Sam's before moving in. "No, I think I'll move in officially at the end of the week, if that's okay?"

Castiel smiles again. "Absolutely. Until then," and he holds out his hand. They shake again, and Castiel is very careful to let go after an appropriate amount of time passes. He shows Dean out and sits back down on the couch. "What do you think, Ash?" The cat just blinks at him and then returns to washing himself. "Well, I like him."

* * *

 

The next few days are filled with all the minutiae of moving - signing a lease, getting an address change with every institution known to man, including some Dean didn't even know existed. Castiel, true to his word, left a set of keys for Dean at the concierge desk in the lobby of the building. Dean spends a few minutes in conversation with the doorman, a gruff but personable man guy named Frank who has nothing but nice things to say about Castiel. While this jives with Dean's initial impressions of his new roommate, there's still something about Castiel that seems, well, different, and Dean can't quite put his finger on it.

The strange thing about that is that he's not even sure he needs to figure out what it is that's niggling at the back of his mind.

Dean is so busy that he only has time to see Missouri once more while she's still in the hospital, and while much of his visit is spent with her scolding him for neglecting her, he can tell she's not really angry.

"They say I can get out of here by tomorrow," she rasps. Her throat is still damaged, but it sounds much better than it did the first time Dean visited.

"You have a place to stay?" Dean asks.

"With my sister and her kids. She lets 'em run her ragged but they're good kids, mostly." She leans forward and winks conspiratorially. "I'm gonna whip 'em into shape. Or at least, try."  Dean laughs, and it's the first real laugh he's had in what feels like months, even though he knows it's only been a week.

"Tell me about this new roommate," Missouri demands.

"Castiel? He seems like a decent guy. He's a writer, but I don't know what kind."

Missouri looks at him, waiting for him to continue.

Dean shrugs. "He's kind of soft spoken, but I get the sense that there's more to him than what he presents." Dean frowns now, trying to put into words what he's thinking. "There's something..."

Missouri eyes him sharply. "What is it?" and the question is more a command that Dean can't disobey.

"I only met the guy for a total of maybe twenty minutes, but I felt like I knew him. Like I knew I could trust him. Sam thinks I'm crazy, of course."

Missouri makes a soft humming sound as she contemplates this piece of information. "Do you think you're crazy?"

Dean rubs the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, maybe? It's the weirdest fuc-- friggin' thing."

Missouri frowns at the almost-profanity, but otherwise chooses to ignore it. "You worried he's going to murder you in your sleep?"

"What? Of course not!"

Missouri shrugs, a soft rolling movement of her left shoulder. "Well then," she says, as if that's all that really matters. And, Dean reflects, she's probably right - it is all that really matters.

Later, when Dean lets himself into his new home for the first time, the place is empty except for Ash the cat, who barely registers Dean's arrival. A note on the hallway table indicates that Castiel will be gone the weekend, and not to worry about Ash, who has enough food set out for the duration. Dean shrugs, thinking at least he’ll have the chance to get familiar with the neighborhood. He’s a little disappointed that he won’t get to know his new roommate immediately, but he can spend the time with Sam instead.

There's nothing really for Dean to move in except the clothes and toiletries that Victor got him, and his laptop, so it takes all of ten minutes to get everything put away. Dean had found time to get to Bed, Bath and Beyond and picked up some sheets, towels, and a comforter, so he busies himself with opening up the couch and making up the bed, another ten minutes.

It took half the day to move all the boxes into his last place, and another half day to unpack everything. This time, he's moved in in under half an hour, and while he knows that he just lost things, he can't help but ache a little at what he’s lost. He stands at the foot of the sofa bed and takes in the bare room - even the bookcase is empty now - and it just feels wrong.

Ash takes this moment to saunter into the room and jump onto the bed, exploring every corner before settling down on the end. Dean sighs and picks up the animal gingerly. "Sorry little dude, can't have your fur all over my bed." He drops the cat outside in the hallway and closes the door.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and begins to make a list of things he'll need to get over the weekend, starting with a desk and chair so he can work. What he really wants to do is replace his album collection, but he can't afford to do that just yet.

Other than grading essays, there's really not much he can do, so he gets ready for bed and climbs in. Castiel was right - it's quite comfortable, and he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

 

After a weekend away, Cas slips in quietly at around one AM Sunday - no - early Monday morning. Ash is waiting for him by the door, weaving in between his legs as he comes in with a pile of mail in his hand. He drops his keys onto the hall stand, wincing at the noise they make as they clatter on the bare wood. He's forgotten what it's like to share space with another person, and how in the dead of night even the smallest of sounds can seem amplified a hundred-fold.

There's nothing interesting in the mail other than a few coupons and flyers for things that he has no interest in buying or attending, so he dumps it wholesale into the recycling bin and makes a cup of tea for himself. He feeds Ash, who has managed to scatter kitty crunchies all over the floor of the kitchen, again.

"Tsk, Ash. You know better than that." The cat blinks at him, his eyes catching the stove top light and flashing in the semi-darkness. Castiel scratches the cat behind its ear, and Ash pushes his head into Castiel's palm before returning his attention to the food bowl.

Castiel pads down the hallway to his room, hesitating outside Dean's door. The space between the door and the floor is dark, and soft snoring sounds come from within. Dean's fast asleep. Castiel turns into his room and leaves his door ajar so that Ash can join him later in the night should he want to.

Castiel perches on the edge of his bed and closes his eyes. It is indeed strange to be sharing living space with another being again, stranger still that this is a person that until earlier in the week, he'd never known. He can sense Dean's presence in the apartment already, a soft humming undertone that sits just at the edges of Castiel's consciousness. However, it's not an unpleasant sensation, and the tension that had been growing between Castiel's eyes the closer he got home begins to loosen. Inviting a stranger into his home is risky. The fact that this stranger is a human makes the situation riskier still, but Dean's presence settles against Castiel's grace with an unexpected ease. There is something about Dean that appeals to Castiel, besides his obvious good looks.

Castiel stands and undresses, sliding on pajama pants. He stretches his back, and then lets his wings unfurl, suppressing the groan that threatens to escape his lips as he does so. Keeping them hidden and out of sight, though necessary, is exhausting and creates an enormous amount of muscle strain in his shoulders and back. Every night, Castiel looks forward to being able to stretch them out like this.

The wings reach to the sides of the room and Castiel lets his head droop forward as he lengthens the tendons and ligaments, shifting them slowly and carefully so they don't knock into anything.

It's heavenly.

After about fifteen minutes of stretching, his wings feel almost normal again, and he clambers into bed. Turning out the light, he reaches out with his grace again, and feels Dean's comforting presence in the room across the hall. Castiel drifts off to sleep with the pleasant buzzing sensation humming through his bones.

* * *

 

The smell of coffee is wafting under Castiel's door, enticing him to wake up. He finally fell asleep a little after two, and he still feels exhausted, but that coffee really does smell heavenly.

He rolls over and stares at the clock, not entirely believing what he's seeing there. It says that it's just after 6:30, but it can't be, because that's just really, really early, and Castiel hasn't gotten up that early in... well, ever. He groans and rolls onto his back again, shutting his eyes. Maybe if he wills it to happen hard enough, he'll go back to sleep.

But he can't. Because the coffee is calling to him, as is the warm buzzing presence of Dean, now more insistent because Dean is awake. Castiel sits up in bed and rubs his face, scrubbing hard at the stubble on his cheeks, hoping that will wake him up a bit more. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, stretching out his wings one more time before folding them away and cloaking them with regret. He pulls on a t-shirt and heads out into the kitchen, where Dean is leaning against the counter, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Did I wake you?" Dean asks by way of a greeting.

Castiel makes a noncommittal sound, not wanting Dean to feel uncomfortable. He hadn't been loud, after all, he'd just made a pot of coffee. "May I?" Castiel asks, pointing at the pot.

Dean nods. "Sure, made enough for an army." Dean eyes Castiel as he pulls an enormous mug out of the cabinet above the coffee pot. "Or maybe just two people, if that's your standard mug size." He grins at Castiel, who flicks a small smile back at him. Castiel is not a morning person, and certainly not after having just over four hours of sleep.

Castiel fills his mug and inhales the scent of the brew. It smells just as enticing close up as it did from his room. He takes a tentative sip after blowing on it, and is pleased to discover that his nose hadn't steered him wrong. The coffee is wonderful. He makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, causing Dean to look at him with a startled expression on his face.

"This is excellent, Dean, thank you," Castiel says as he leans against the counter opposite Dean. Dean lifts his cup toward Castiel and takes another sip. They stand like that for a little while longer, enjoying their coffee, silently taking the measure of the other.

Castiel notes that Dean is dressed for work, a little more formally than he had been dressed for his interview with Gabriel. He's wearing a white button down shirt and an olive green striped tie with a pair of dark charcoal pants. He's got a school id badge hanging around his neck, and there's a brown leather satchel leaning against one of the chairs in the dining area. The tie complements the color of his eyes nicely, and the overall effect is quite pleasing.

Castiel realizes that he's staring when Dean gives him an odd look, and then sort of smirks, taking in Castiel's outfit - bright blue plaid flannel pajama pants and a black v-neck t-shirt that's a little too big for him because it used to be Michael's and had somehow made it into Castiel's pile of laundry once. Castiel looks down at himself and realizes how ridiculous the pajama pants look, but they're his most comfortable, so he just sort of shrugs and raises an eyebrow in Dean's direction that's meant to say, 'what can you do?'

Dean smiles back, and Castiel's stomach does a small flip. He buries his nose in his mug of coffee before the reaction can show on his face, because again, he is so screwed. Dean is so attractive, even more so in his work clothes and with a smile on his face, and God can he make a cup of coffee. Castiel takes a long drink of coffee, and by the time he looks up, Dean has his back to Castiel; he's washing his cup in the sink.

"You can finish up the last of the coffee, Cas. I'll probably have to stay late today, but I'd like to make you dinner to thank you for taking me in. You free tomorrow night for that?" Dean says when he's set the clean up in the draining board.

"Cas?" Castiel says, momentarily distracted by the nickname and not registering the rest of Dean's request.

Dean shrugs. "You don't like it?"

Castiel shakes his head slowly as a warm feeling builds in his stomach - no one has ever given him a nickname before, and he kind of likes it. "It's. Nice," Cas says eventually, already calling himself that in his head.

"So, dinner? Tomorrow night?" Dean prompts as he picks up his satchel.

"Uh, sure."

"Great! Let me know if you have any allergies, and I'll see about whipping something up," Dean says as he heads out the door.

Cas absolutely does not check out Dean's butt as Dean goes.

* * *

 

Castiel had gone back to sleep after Dean left, so when he wakes up later in the morning, sunlight is streaming into his room through the gap in his curtains, and Ash is cuddled up to his side. Cas gets up and dressed before he can convince himself to stay in bed, much as he wants to. He has a meeting with Michael today, and he can't get out of it.

Michael's waiting for him when Cas arrives, fingers steepled and lips pursed in disapproval. Cas sighs inwardly - it's going to be that kind of meeting.

Still, he puts a brave face on it and smiles as he sits across from Michael. As always, his meetings with Michael take on the feel of an audience rather than a conversation between brothers with the common goal of keeping the family together. Michael almost always holds his meetings with Cas in his office, where he feels most comfortable and powerful. Michael's office is large and imposing, the walls a dark wood, and every piece of furniture designed to demonstrate power and influence. The centerpiece of the office is his desk - oversized even for this room, with an equally enormous wingback chair for Michael to sit in. By contrast, the chairs for visitors are small, hard, wooden things that seat the guest at a lower vantage point than Michael. It's all designed to intimidate so that Michael can get what he wants.

In fact, Michael has one goal, and that is to lead the family, despite tradition and prophecy.

Cas would be happy to let Michael take control of the family, but he can't.

The meeting goes as well as can be expected - better, as Michael seems to be okay with his role of bringing Cas up to date on the family and their relationships with the other angel families, who form a community within the larger society of the human world.

The human world is largely ignorant of the fact that angels are not only real, but live amongst them, hiding in plain sight.

Castiel, who was nearing the end of a fourteen year exile, was to be the next one to lead the angelic community.

And if the prophecy held true, it would also be Castiel who would usher in a new age for both humans and angels - one where humans would learn about the angel community, and they would hopefully live peacefully side-by-side.

Castiel is part of the group of angels who would like to blend more openly with humans, to stop hiding.

Michael is not.

It's not until the end of the meeting that it's clear that Michael has no intention of letting the two communities blend.

Michael leans forward on the desk and speaks in a low, dark voice. "The prophecy won't come true, you know."

Cas waits, knowing that Michael isn't finished.

"No one wants it anyway. Just you, Gabriel and Anna. The humans can't be trusted. They kill anything they don't understand."

"You underestimate them," Cas says.

"You've lived among them for too long," Michael sneers, and it's meant as an insult, not just a point of fact.

Castiel sighs, already tired with the conversation. "It wasn't by choice. They call it exile for a reason. But I've seen so much good in humanity."

Michael snorts. "They lie, cheat, and steal. They murder each other."

"As do angels, Michael," Castiel points out.

"They bomb each other. Children! They blow themselves up," Michael presses.

Castiel stands, pushing back his chair with a little more force than he had intended. His dark wings flare up behind him, feathers rustling in agitation. "We've lived among them in secret for too long, Michael. They are who they are, and we are not that different, not really. Perhaps you should find a way to spend more time among them before you judge them so harshly."

"I don't need to live among them to know they are no better than animals, Castiel. And I see they've influenced you too much already." MIchael is standing now, his own wings up and over his head in a challenge position. The white feathers are spread out as wide and tall as they can go, and, because he is the oldest, he has two sets, both of which are up and out. It is, Castiel admits to himself, an impressive display. And, if Cas is honest, it's his fault things have escalated this far. He started it, and didn't nip it in the bud when he should have. However, he can't back down, not now, and so they stand there in a face-off, neither willing to budge an inch.

They are saved from having to either move forward or back down by Anna, who has a sixth sense about her brothers, Castiel in particular. They have the closest relationship of all their siblings.

She bursts into the room, already talking, apologies tumbling out of her mouth before she's even halfway through the door. She stop short when she sees the two of them in a virtual stand-off, and then makes a tsking sound of irritation.

"Cut it out, you two," she says, resting her palm on Castiel's shoulder. She knows better than to touch Michael when he's like this, but she glares fiercely at him. They both relax their stances together, easing their wings out of challenge mode into a more relaxed, yet still guarded state.

"Sorry, Michael. I need to steal Castiel away," Anna says, and her voice is brittle with forced cheer. Michael nods at her, and then returns his gaze to Cas, narrowing his eyes slightly as if to say that their conversation is not yet over.

Castiel smiles back, affecting a vapid and guileless look, unwilling to show outwardly how unnerved by the entire confrontation he'd been. He lets Anna guide him out of Michael's office, and it's not until they're in the elevator that he's able to breathe a huge sigh of relief.

* * *

 

Dean goes to the supermarket on his way home, examining tomatoes, trying to decide which would be best for dinner that night. he realizes that it's been a couple of weeks since the fire, and he has to put down the tomato he's holding before he squeezes it into a messy pulp. It's been a whirlwind, between work, moving, talking with insurance agents, and getting used to a new living space and roommate.

Dean is overwhelmed by the feeling of displacement and loss, something he'd been pushing aside all week in order to get things done. Now that he's got the whole weekend before him, a great yawning space of free time wherein he's positive he will brood and sink into depression.

Dean grabs some random tomatoes and tosses them into the cart. He pauses in front of the beer case, contemplating buying some (a lot) for the dinner (the weekend), but pushes on to the cashier before he can give into the impulse to drink himself into oblivion.

He's out of the store, in the car and halfway back to the apartment - home - before the impulse to drink fades, and even then it's still there, at the edges of his consciousness demanding attention, insistent.

It's not until he's letting himself into the apartment that the impulse has dulled enough that he can really ignore it. Cas is in the living room, reading a book and petting Ash. He smiles at Dean when Dean comes in, and leaps up to help with the groceries when he sees how laden Dean is with packages.

"How many people are you cooking for?" Cas asks.

Dean chuckles. "Just us. I got enough for the next few days so I don't have to keep going back to the store."

Cas hums in agreement and helps Dean put everything away before Dean shoos Cas out of the kitchen so he can cook.

Cas watches Dean move about, noting that Dean seems to feel comfortable in the small space. Cas feels a surge of warmth that has nothing to do with the heat of the cooking. The warmth flushes upward to his cheeks as he continues to watch Dean. He ducks his head so Dean can't see him blushing.

Dinner is delicious, and they enjoy talking to each other about all manner of topics. Dean is actually tempted to share his odd experience with the old lady from the coffee shop because Cas has a sharp, logical mind. He doesn't though, more because they spend so much time talking about other things that there's really no opportunity. It has been on Dean’s mind, though, rising unbidden at odd moment. He’s puzzled over the incident, wondering what it could mean, and why he’s still thinking about it even after so many days have passed.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean asks as they clean up the dishes after dinner.

"Shoot," Cas says as he rinses off the last last of the plates.

"When I met with Gabriel, he asked if I believed in fate. What was that all about?"

Cas hesitates for a long moment before responding. There are so many different answers to this question that he doesn't even know where to begin. "What did you tell him?" Cas asks finally.

Dean shrugs. "That I don't." He hesitates, and then adds, "I thought for a moment that it was gonna be a deal breaker, you know? But then he stood up and brought me here."

"My family is all about tradition, Dean." Cas pulls the dish towel off the oven door and dries his hands as he talks. "And part of our family tradition includes..." Here Cas stops, because he's not sure how to put this, not without sounding completely crazy. "There's just a lot of stuff my family thinks is meant to happen for us. Sometimes Gabriel takes it a bit too far, though. You can't take anything he says seriously."

Dean nods. "Did my answer matter?"

"Not to me." Cas busies himself with the coffee maker, getting ready to brew up another pot so he can get a solid evening of writing in. He hopes that Dean will drop the subject, but it seems that he's not so lucky.

"Then why did Gabriel ask?" Dean leans against the counter, placing himself between Cas and the fridge.

Cas steps around Dean to get the creamer out before he answers the question. "No idea. You should ask him." His words are clipped now, hoping that Dean will get the hint and drop the subject. There's no way he can continue this conversation without sharing a whole lot about who he is that he's neither at liberty to divulge nor ready to discuss, not with anyone.

Dean seems to get the hint, and he pushes off the counter, stepping out of the kitchen area into the dining room. He grabs his satchel and settles at the dining table. "Mind if I grade here? I haven't had a chance to get any furniture yet."

"Of course not. It's your space too." Cas pours himself a mug of coffee. "Dinner was good."

"Sure, anytime. Thanks for taking me in," Dean says as he pulls out an enormous pile of essays. He eyes the pile for a moment, and then, sighing, settles in to work.

Cas smiles into his cup. "You're welcome. Thanks for moving in so I can actually keep the place." He goes into his study and sets the coffee mug down on the desk. Pulling out his laptop, he begins to compose a bit in his head, knowing that whatever he's got up there will end up being very different once he's actually gotten down to the business of writing.

He allows his mind to wander, though, thinking back to his conversation with Dean. In fact, he's not entirely sure why Gabriel asked Dean the question about fate, because the Milton family issues with fate and prophecy should have no bearing whatever on Castiel's choice of roommate, not really.

Dean moving in was a convenience: an opportunity for Castiel to stay in a home he had come to love and couldn't bear to part with. It had nothing to do with his family or any of the storm that was to come.

* * *

 

The weeks passed pretty quickly and, thankfully, quietly, for Dean. He was glad of the monotony of routine, given that when things were no longer routine, they tended to really suck. On the whole, Dean was quite happy with things being quiet.

He and Cas fell into a pattern of sorts. Each morning Dean would get up, shower, dress and make a pot of coffee. Cas would be drawn out of his room by the enticing aroma of the fresh brew. Sleepy and bleary eyed, he would join Dean for breakfast, and then when Dean went off to work, Cas would go back to bed for a little while, and then get up to get some work done. Most evenings, Dean was on his own, as Cas was out and about - although Dean never knew what that actually meant for Cas.

Despite the fact that they were friendly with each other, and they enjoyed each other's company, Cas was very close-mouthed about his life outside of the apartment. He rarely spoke of his family, with the exception of Gabriel and Anna, and even then, he never really said much of anything about them. Dean knew Cas had a big family, but it was almost as if that part of Cas's life didn't exist.

Or that Cas was hiding that aspect of his life.

It wasn't exactly as if Dean didn't trust Cas, because he did - there was something inherently honest about Cas's face. Cas was a terrible liar. They'd found that out when Cas had made the last of the coffee and hadn't replaced what he'd drunk. He insisted for a full 30 minutes that he hadn't actually been the one to drink the last of the coffee, but Dean just folded his arms and gave Cas his best teacher look. Cas folded like a bad poker hand and admitted to drinking the coffee.

Later, he'd asked how Dean knew that Cas was lying, and Dean smirked and just said that he read people really well. (It was really that Cas had developed a small tic beneath his right eye that quivered whenever he tried to tell a lie, and Dean had caught it almost immediately.)

So when it came to Cas's family, Cas did his best not to talk about them at all, mostly because he didn't want to have to lie.

He was already lying by omission as it was, and he really didn't want to have to compound the problem.

However, their neat little routine was thrown into a mess when one Thursday afternoon, Dean returned home from school a little bit earlier than usual, and found Cas sitting in their living room with a man who had a cold, hawk-like face. His eyes were icy blue, and while Dean could tell that there was a family resemblance between Cas and this stranger, he could also tell that the two men were about as different as relatives could be and still share the same genes.

When Cas hears Dean's key in the lock, he groans inwardly. There's no way to avoid a confrontation now, and much as Cas wishes he could usher Michael out, there's just no way to avoid the two men meeting. Michael's distaste was already showing on his face, almost as if someone had stuck something foul-smelling beneath his nose, and Dean hadn't even entered the living room yet.

Dean tosses his keys onto the hallway table and notes that they come to rest beside Cas's keys. It's unusual for Cas to be home at this early hour on a weeknight, so Dean's already on alert. He saunters into the living room and grins at Cas. He turns the grin to the stranger sitting on the sofa with Cas, and it falters when he catches the barely disguised look of disgust on the man's face. Dean recovers quickly, however, and holds out his hand to the other man.

"Hi, I'm Dean," he says. Michael looks at Dean's extended hand and back up at Dean, but doesn't raise his hand to shake Dean's. In fact, he adjusts his posture slightly so that he's got his back partially turned toward Dean, an effective dismissal.

Dean's eyes flicker toward Cas, who widens his eyes momentarily in an attempt to convey an apology. "Dean, this is my brother, Michael." Cas lowers the tone of his voice a notch. "Michael, this is my roommate, Dean." Michael nods curtly at Dean over his shoulder, but still doesn't shake Dean's hand.

Dean, who has had to deal with a fair share of assholes in his life, winks at Cas and claps Michael on the shoulder. "Well, it's certainly nice to meet another Milton family member. Can't believe how many of you guys there are!" Cas winces at the forced cheer he hears in Dean's voice.

Michael grimaces. "Yes, we do have a big family." He finally turns to look at Dean, and sneers. "Please excuse yourself, as Castiel and I have much to discuss and it is not your business."

Dean gapes for a moment, and then shrugs lightly. "Sure, no skin off my nose. You stayin' for dinner? I could whip somethin' up." He heads in the direction of the kitchen. "We still have some of that leftover chicken, Cas?"

Michael raises an eyebrow. "Cas?"

"I don't think so, Dean," Cas responds, and hopes that Dean will just leave well enough alone so that Cas can finish talking to Michael and just get him out of the apartment. He's been dealing with Michael and his demands for the last hour, and while Cas has absolutely no intention of giving into any of them, the constant vigilance that he has to keep up in order to make sure that Michael doesn't manage to get his way just through sheer attrition is exhausting for Cas.

Dean makes a disappointed tsking noise as he opens the fridge and pokes his head inside for a moment.

Michael raises his voice. "I will not be staying for dinner. My business with Castiel is almost complete. If you would please leave, we can get on with it."

Dean swings the fridge door closed with a flourish and heads down the hallway. "Sure thing!" He turns into his room and shuts the door behind him, muttering, "Asshole."

Michael pretends that he didn't hear Dean as he raises his eyebrow at Castiel. "Cas?" he asks again, and it's all Cas can do not to roll his eyes. Sometimes Michael is like a dog with a bone - he can't leave it alone.

Cas shrugs. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about, Michael?"

"You're going through with it then." It's a statement, and behind the statement Cas can hear Michael's astonishment. Michael really had thought that coming over to Cas's apartment and badgering him for an hour would get Cas to change his mind. Cas almost laughs out loud about it, but manages - just - to rein in the urge.

"Yes, Michael. It's my responsibility," Cas responds. He stands up, an unsubtle hint that the conversation is indeed over, and waits for Michael to stand as well. Michael is obviously weighing his options and trying to decide whether or not to push Cas, but he apparently decides not to, because he gets up after a moment and brushes past Castiel roughly. He stalks to the entryway, anger vibrating with every step and slams the door behind him as he goes.

Dean pokes his head out of his room and sees Cas standing in the living room, looking a little bereft. "Cas, you okay?" Dean asks.

Cas thinks for a moment, not really hearing the question, and then he shakes himself out of his reverie. "Hm? Yes, fine."

Dean folds his arms across his chest and eyes his roommate - his friend. "Uh huh. You don't look fine. You look like he just kicked the cat."

Cas smiles a bit at the image, knowing that Michael would never do such a thing - mostly because Michael doesn't see anything other than what he wants to, and a small animal like Ash - a pet - would be beneath his notice. "I'm fine, Dean. Thank you for your concern."

"So that's your brother, huh?" Dean says as he saunters back into the living room. He leans against the back of the couch. "Seems like a real peach of a guy."

"Michael is used to getting his way," Cas replies.

Dean nods. "My dad was like that. Doesn't mean it was right," Dean says, surprised at his candor. He's never really talked about his dad with anyone - not even with Sammy.

"Our father was usually... absent. So Michael was the one who was the father figure. He had - has - very strict ideas about family and obligation, and I don't always agree with him. He's having a hard time accepting that." Cas walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge. He closes it after a minute, apparently unsatisfied with what he sees inside. "Want to go and grab a burger?"

Dean blinks at the sudden change in subject, but takes it in stride, figuring that Cas doesn't want to talk about his family anymore. "Sure, sounds great. Let me go grab my jacket and wallet."

They head down the street to a local pub that's trying for British kitsch yet still manages to have the best burgers in this part of the city. They're thick and juicy and cooked to perfection. Dean practically moans into the burger it's so good. They sit and talk for a couple of hours, enjoying the food and the atmosphere and working their way through the better part of two pitchers of beer. They're both pleasantly buzzed, and the walk back to the apartment is filled with the shared warmth of having eaten a good meal and had a little too much to drink.

Back upstairs, Cas hovers outside the door to his room. "Dean, thank you."

"For what?" Dean asks, genuinely puzzled.

"For keeping me company tonight. I had a good time."

Dean grins. "I am always up for a great burger, Cas. And I enjoyed talking to you."

Cas flushes slightly, hoping that Dean will mistake the sudden colour on his cheeks for the aftereffects of the beer, and not for the effect that Dean's words have had on him. If Dean notices, however, he doesn't say anything, other than to wish Cas goodnight. Cas nods and listens for the click of the latch on Dean's door before stepping away from his own door and into his own moonlit room.

He spends a few minutes lowering the shades and getting ready for bed, even though it's still quite early. Cas settles on the edge of his bed and listens for sounds of Dean moving around in the room across the hall. Cas desperately wants to stretch out his wings, but he really doesn't want to run the risk of Dean coming into his room and seeing them, not just yet.

Cas picks a book off his nightstand and lies down on his stomach to read for a little while, hoping that he can stay awake long enough for Dean to get into bed and go to sleep. He's not so lucky, however, and as he reads, his eyes droop lower and lower until they're too heavy for him to keep open. He drops the book and folds his arms in front of him, pillowing his head on them.

He's plagued by strange dreams for most of the night. Running, flying, terror and anxiety flash through him in discordant images and sensations. He knows he's dreaming, knows that he's not really experiencing any of the emotions or events, but he can't seem to wake up, can't push back the veil of the dream enough to force himself out of it.

When he does wake, it's late, very late in the morning. The sunlight is streaming through the gap in the curtains at a much different angle than he's used to seeing, and peering at the clock he sees that it's closer to noon. He'd slept the entire night long and through his morning coffee with Dean, something which he has grown used to  doing over the last few weeks.

He's disappointed, but more than that, he's concerned, because the dreams were vivid and difficult to break out of, and he's never had that difficulty before. He's also incredibly sore, because of the way he'd slept the night before and because he hadn't had a chance to stretch out before falling asleep.

He gets up with a groan and tentatively extends one wing and then the other, grimacing in pain as he works out the kinks. It takes a long time before he feels normal again, more limber and awake. When he's finally finished, he ventures into the kitchen, and wrinkles his nose. Dean must have left the coffee pot on for him, and the smell of old, over cooked coffee permeated the air.

Cas cleans out the pot and brews another one, puttering about the kitchen and making a small lunch while he waits. He still feels out of sorts, but the promise of coffee is perking him up a little bit.

* * *

 

They get into the habit of going out for burgers together a couple of times a week. They've found the perfect burger place down the street, and they go frequently enough that they've got their own booth, and they get a nod and a wave from the bartender. Dean's used to that, having cultivated those kinds of relationships with people just about everywhere he goes, but it's new for Cas, and Cas feels a thrill of warmth every time they go and Rufus grins at them and tips a wave.

The last time they went, Rufus drew a couple of beers and brought them over before they even had a chance to order.

This particular evening was no different than usual, with the exception that both Dean and Cas have had really bad days. When Rufus brings over their beers, Dean holds up two fingers.

"Two more, Rufus," he says.

"You know I can't bring over more if you haven't finished these," Rufus says, frowning down at Dean.

Dean rubs his eyes and sighs. "Fine. How about a pitcher then?"

Rufus grins. "That I can do. I'll get that right up for you."

"Bad day?" Cas asks.

"Don't want to talk about it. You?"

Cas smiles, looking down at the placemat. "Me either."

"Done. We'll eat some burgers and drink a whole lot of beer, and forget this day ever happened," Dean says. Cas nods, and picks up his drink. He holds it up in salute to Dean, who returns the gesture, and swallows down a good third of the glass.

Dean eyes the glass when Cas puts it down. "That bad, huh?"

Cas just nods his head and takes another drink. Rufus brings over their pitcher, but only raises an eyebrow at the rapidly disappearing beer in front of Cas and also Dean at this point. "Same as usual, boys?" Rufus asks.

"Yeah, Rufus, thanks," Cas answers.

They sit quietly while they wait for their food, drinking their beer. They work their way through most of the pitcher and eat their food, and by the time Rufus brings over another pitcher for them, they're telling each other stories and laughing at the ridiculous situations their siblings manage to get themselves into.

Cas is about halfway through a truly embarrassing story about Anna, her belly button and a pencil (Dean just knows that Anna would be so mad that Cas is telling this story, and he hasn't even met her, but he just can't stop laughing), when Rufus comes over.

"Okay boys, pay up, it's closing time."

Cas frowns and looks at the clock on the wall, which is actually at a funky angle from where he's sitting, so he can't really tell what time it is. "What? No, it's not closing time. You're just trying to get rid of us." He's slurring his words slightly, and for some reason, Dean finds that really funny. He starts giggling, but stops when Rufus glares at him. He feels a little like a naughty schoolboy, and that sends him off on another jag of giggles because hello, ironic for the school teacher to feel like a naughty schoolboy.

And then that word naughty kind of gives Dean pause because he's suddenly very aware of the fact that Cas's legs are stretched out under the table and his calf is bumping up against Dean's leg. He flushes, the warmth spreading from his chest up his face, and he really hopes that Rufus chalks it up to all the beer they've been drinking, because Dean Winchester does not blush.

"Not kidding boys. We've been closed for 20 minutes. Pay up before I make you do the dishes." Rufus folds his arms across his chest and glares down at them. Both Dean and Cas reach for their wallets and pull them out. They fumble through them pulling out various sums of money, none of which seem to satisfy Rufus, who finally just huffs a loud sigh. "Give me those!" He yanks the wallets out of their hands and pulls out the appropriate amount of money and then hands them back. "Now get out of here already."

Dean and Cas stand up with great difficulty and head out of the door, weaving into each other as they go. They get out onto the street and inhale the cool autumn air, and then fall into giggles again. Dean throws his arm around Cas. "C'mon, let's get home."

Cas leans into Dean’s touch and they stumble on back to their building. The night doorman opens the door for them and they each salute him as they enter, trying not to trip up the marble steps into the lobby. In the ride up the elevator, Dean realizes that he's still got his arm around Cas, but for some reason, he doesn't feel like moving it, so he doesn't, in fact, he pulls Cas closer to him. Cas looks up at him for a moment, with a perplexed expression on his face, and then he seems to decide something.

The next thing Dean knows, Cas has leaned up and is kissing him, warm, chapped lips moving against his own. Dean freezes for a second, and then he shoves Cas against the back wall of the elevator and kisses back. There's a tiny voice in the back of his head that's asking what he's doing, but there's a much louder voice in the front that's saying yes, good, please, more, and Dean listens to that voice. Cas makes a small noise in the back of his throat that Dean just swallows because it makes him feel so good, and he's pressing as much of himself against Cas as he can.

Somewhere outside of all the sensation that is Cas, there's a dinging sound, and then Cas is pushing him back and saying something, but Dean can't quite figure out what that is. He's more concerned about the lack of Cas, the fact that he's no longer got Cas's lips on his own.

"Dean!" Cas says, and Dean thinks he might have had to say it several times, if the sharp tone in Cas's voice is any indication. "Our floor." Cas points to the elevator doors, which are just beginning to close. Dean lunges for them and squeezes through, pulling Cas by the wrist. They half run down the hallway to their door and Cas tries to open the door, but Dean's hands are on his waist, pulling him backward, his lips warm and moist on the nape of his neck. "Dean, wait, wait," Cas breathes, fumbling with the keys and nearly dropping them.

But Dean's not listening, he just wants to feel more of Cas's skin, it's not enough to have the warm body leaning back against him, he wants skin to skin contact. He skirts his fingers up under Cas's shirt, trailing fingers up his abdomen. The muscles twitch under Dean's fingers and Cas closes his eyes and exhales slowly. "Dean, cut it out.” He swats at Dean’s hands.

"No, you smell good." Dean kisses behind Cas's ear. "And you feel good. Hurry up, Cas."

After what feels like a year, Cas gets the right key in the lock and manages to open the door. He chooses to ignore Dean's whispered, "Thank fuck," and whirls around, pulling Dean into their apartment. Dean kicks the door closed behind him and advances on Cas, who licks his lips and watches Dean warily, his eyes wide and dark under the weight of Dean's gaze. They stare at each other for a moment, the last inch or so that separates them widening like a chasm. Whatever ease had been between them in the elevator and hall was suspended, at least at that moment. They're both breathing heavily though, waiting.

Ash makes an appearance, weaving in and out of Cas's legs, chirruping the short little meows he gives when he's hungry. It breaks the spell, and Cas leans down to pick up the cat while shooting an apologetic look at Dean.

"He needs to be fed," Cas says softly, and he buries his face in between the cat's shoulder blades, effectively hiding himself from Dean. The moment is gone, and Cas doesn't want Dean to see how disappointed he is that nothing more has happened between them.

Dean nods, stunned by the sudden turns of the entire evening. He watches Cas move into the kitchen area, and shakes his head, trying to clear it. There's still a lot of alcohol in his system, but he's almost hyper aware of his surroundings, the alcohol less and less of a factor in how he's feeling. His lips tingle with the feel of Cas's lips against his, his hands still feel the warmth of Cas's skin, and the space between his arms, the one that until five minutes ago had been filled with Cas, now feels achingly empty. He can hear Cas moving about the kitchen - opening and closing the cupboard, the shooking sound of the vacuum seal breaking on the can of food for Ash, and even the soft murmur of Cas speaking in soothing tones to the animal, who has ratcheted up his clamoring for his evening meal.

Cas comes back from the kitchen, and is startled to see Dean still standing in the hallway exactly as he left him. "Oh," Cas says, and Dean can't tell whether that's a pleased sound, or a disappointed one. Suddenly he wants to know the answer more than anything, and he moves into Cas's personal space. Cas blinks, and Dean's last conscious thought as his closes his mouth over Cas's is that it's really frigging adorable.

This kiss is less frantic, less frenzied this time, and Dean takes his time with it, getting to know Cas's lips, licking at them lightly with his tongue, not pushing too far, hovering just on this side of passionate. Cas grips Dean's shirt in his fist and pulls Dean closer, sealing them together so they are hip to hip and chest to chest. Dean's hands find their way to the great mess that is Cas's hair, and he runs his fingers through it. It's thick and soft, and Cas's scalp is warm beneath Dean's palms. The moment is sweet and soft and suddenly nowhere near enough for Cas, who makes a small frustrated sound as he begins walking backward down the hall, pulling Dean along with him.

Cas fumbles at the buttons on Dean's shirt, and when Dean tries to help, Cas slaps his hand away. The kisses are less languid and more intense, short bursts of contact followed by brief moments of space between as they negotiate their way to Cas's room. They make it inside, and Cas slams Dean against the wall, yanking Dean's shirt tails out of his pants and latching onto Dean's neck with his mouth.

Dean groans and presses his head back against the wall, lifting his chin to give Cas better access. Cas has managed to get Dean's shirt off, and he's working on his own when Dean grabs Cas. "Let me, Cas, let me." Cas works at Cas's shirt until they are both naked from the waist up, and warm skin can come into contact with more skin. It's exactly what Cas wanted, needed, and at the same time, not nearly enough.

"Dean," he breathes, but he can't quite figure out what he was going to say, his train of thought is completely gone, especially as Dean's fingers are dipping under the waistband of his jeans, trailing light fingers across the top of his ass. "Dean," he says again, and he thinks that he might be trying to get Dean to do something, to move somewhere but he doesn't know, because he's lost in the sensations of Dean's mouth, and his tongue and how hot and wet it is, and the light scrape of stubble against his cheek.

"Cas," Dean whispers back and he thrusts his hips into Cas's. The motion is galvanizing, and Cas steps back and away. Dean whimpers at the loss, but he follows Cas readily enough until they bump up against the bed and fall backward onto it.

There's a minor scrum as they work to remove each other's pants, trembling fingers becoming all thumbs as button flies prove to be more challenging when one's focus is hazed by lust and want and need and nownownow. Finally, though, they're free of the confines of clothing, and they're utterly naked and moving against each other, now a slow, torpid movement. Their lips and tongues slide in and out against one another's, and the sounds of their breathlessness fill the air.

Cas rolls over so he's atop Dean, his knees bracketing Dean's hips, and he pushes his own hips down, slotting them together, and it's like a key fitting into a lock, it's perfect. They groan in unison. The smooth velvety heat of their cocks practically scorches their hips, and Cas begins to move, pressing his hips down into Dean's, kissing him and running his hands up and down Dean's chest. "So beautiful," Cas murmurs in between kisses.

They move against each other, whispering words of encouragement in each other’s ears. Dean grabs Cas’s ass, murmuring appreciatively about that particular part of Cas’s anatomy, and he pulls Cas into him increasing the pressure and friction as he loses himself in the sensations of Cas, his scent, slightly musky and honeyed.

Cas reaches between them and closes his hand around them both, jacking them together in a slow, even rhythm that has Dean arching off the bed into Cas’s hand. “God Cas, Jesus,” he says, words tumbling from his mouth as he runs his hands up and down Cas’s back. When his hands reach Cas’s shoulder blades, Cas, whose face is buried in the crook of Dean’s shoulder, comes, spilling over his hand and onto Dean’s stomach. Dean topples over into his own orgasm a moment later as Cas continues to milk the two of them gently through the last throes.

Cas presses soft kisses to Dean’s neck, and then sinks down on top of Dean, heedless of the mess between their bodies. They rearrange themselves slowly, pulling up the blankets and settling together in the center of the bed. They fall asleep almost immediately.

****

* * *

 

Dean wakes slowly, feeling pleasantly boneless and warm, although he does have a splitting headache. There's a solid body next to him, arm flung across his waist, and something is tickling his nose. His head hurts like a motherfucker. How much beer did he drink last night, anyway?

He cracks an eyelid to try to get his bearings. He's in bed, someone - Cas - is next to him, and he should be a little more bothered by that fact, but for some reason, he isn't.

Even with one eye open, though, it's dark, and Dean wonders if it's still the middle of the night. But no, there's sunlight filtering through the... feathers? covering his face. He opens both of his eyes and is greeted with a curtain of black feathers draped over him. What the hell? He blinks, thinking maybe it's a product of his hungover brain, but no. There's a fucking wing in his face, and its owner is sleeping on his stomach next to Dean.

Flowing out of Cas's back at shoulder level are two huge, black, wings. The feathers are iridescent, catching the sunlight and showing up green and blue in the light.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean exclaims, and he scrambles into a seated position. He realizes he's naked and stops before he's fully out of the bed and exposed. Cas mumbles sleepily and opens his eyes. He winces in the bright sunlight and squints. "Dean?"

"You -- You --" Dean splutters and points at the wings.

Cas looks over his shoulder. "Fuck," he says, and he buries his face in his pillow. Not exactly how he was hoping this particular revelation would go.

He rolls over and sits up, folding the wings tightly against his back. There's no point in hiding them, since the proverbial cat is out of the bag. Cas scrubs his face. "I have wings."

Dean snorts. "No shit, I can see that. Why do you have wings? How do you have... What the fuck are you? Oh god, what did we do... What the..." Dean's breathing speeds up and he feels lightheaded. Cas places a warm palm on the nape of Dean's neck.

"Shh. Just breathe," Cas says softly, and he gently pushes Dean's head down so it's lower than his heart. He rubs soothing circles into Dean's lower back, trying to ignore the electricity when his fingers touch the smooth skin of Dean's back. Not the time, Milton, he tells himself sternly.

Dean breathes deeply, trying to calm his thundering heart, because what. The. Actual. Fuck.

"Wh-- Why..." Dean tries again.

"Shh. Just breathe, okay?" Cas stops him.

Dean nods and steels himself against Cas's touch, willing himself not to lean into it, much as he wants to. He sits up slowly after a minute, and he nods at Cas. He's not going to pass out from shock. Yet.

"So. Wings?" Dean says. He shifts slightly so he's just out of reach of Cas's hand and stomps down on the feeling of grief at the loss of warmth. He tries to ignore the hurt that flashes in Cas's eyes, those gorgeous blues, because hello, wings, and that's kind of a huge secret to have. Eyeing the things, Dean muses that's both literal and figurative.

Cas sighs and looks down at his hands, which are now twisting the sheet pooled in his lap. "I'm an angel, Dean. I've been living here among humans for 14 years, but I'm an angel."

"An angel," Dean says slowly. Because what?

"Yes," Cas says simply.

"Angels don't exist," Dean says.

Cas rustles the feathers of his wings and unfolds them, a wry smile twisting his face. "Are you sure about that?"

Dean swallows, because now that he's looking at them, really looking at them, he's stunned by how massive they are. They could easily span most of the whole room if Cas were to stretch them out fully.

"Seriously? An angel? Like, what, with a halo? Are you all holy, and... Jesus. We... last night, with. I. I touched you... Am I going to Hell now? I defiled... I'm going to Hell." Dean buries his face in his hands, and he really, really desperately wants a cup of coffee and some food, because his head is pounding and he doesn't think he can take anymore of this. "I need coffee," he moans into his hands.

"Me too. Why don't we..." Cas waves vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. Dean licks his lips and eases out of bed, suddenly embarrassed by his nakedness. Cas grins. "You're not going to Hell, Dean. Not because of last night."

Dean returns the smile weakly, oddly gratified to hear this piece of information. He pulls his pants on and pads across the hallway, picking up his shirt on the way, and dumping it in the laundry basket. He pulls a t-shirt out of the dresser and puts it on, stopping to brush his teeth before heading into the kitchen.

Cas is there already, still shirtless, wings folded against his back, feeding the cat. Dean watches in fascination as Cas moves, the wings flowing with him, not really getting in the way. If anything, Cas seems more at home in his body with the wings out in the open.

Dean makes the coffee and blurts out before he can stop himself, "Where do they go? Your wings?"

Cas looks up at Dean. "I can... cloak them, with my Grace. They're still there. It takes some effort and strains my muscles and my Grace if I have to do it for too long."

"Your grace?" Dean asks, and it's not quite right, the way it rolls off his tongue. It doesn't sound as majestic, as glorious as when Cas said it. He tries again, picturing the word with a capital letter in his head. "Grace?"

Cas smiles again. "Yes. Angels don't have souls, not the way humans do. We have Grace. It's what makes us angels."

Dean gestures at the wings. "And those don't?" He reaches into the fridge for the eggs and bacon. Might as well make some breakfast.

"No. They wings are physical manifestations of my Grace." Cas pours two cups of coffee and hands one to Dean, who takes it gratefully. "You're taking this better than I expected," he says.

Dean snorts. "It hasn't sunk in. Angels are real? So wait, your whole family? All angels? How many angels are there?"

“Some of us live among humans, a lot live apart though." Cas doesn’t answer Dean’s question, not really, and there's a flicker of something - unhappiness? Distaste? - on Cas's face as he responds. Dean files that away for the future.

"So..." Dean begins, but he stops, because he's not really sure what he wants to ask, what he wants to say. If anything.

Cas puts his coffee down on the counter and crowds into Dean's personal space. Tilting his head slightly, he says, "It's my turn to ask some questions." His deep voice is husky, and Dean tries not to think about how it's reverberating deep within his chest, his whole body. He realizes he's staring at Cas's lips, and he drags his eyes upward, focusing instead on the angel's eyes. That wasn't much better, really, because Dean could drown in them, the blue was so deep and beautiful. Dean licks his lips and nods in response.

Cas touches the inside of Dean's wrist lightly. "Do you regret last night? I'm still me, just with a little extra." He tilts his head back a bit to indicate the wings. Dean licks his lips again, because now there's new skin to focus on, and he can see the bruise just beneath Cas's jaw line - the one he put there himself. Not trusting his voice, he shakes his head 'no'.

Cas smiles, and presses closer to Dean. Their chests are flush together now; Dean can feel the rise and fall of Cas's chest beneath his own, and it's soothing in a way. "So," Cas says, taking the package of bacon and the carton of eggs from Dean's hands. He puts them in the fridge. "If I were to..." and Cas rolls his hips into Dean's, a sinuous movement that brings Cas's hardness into contact with Dean's cock beneath his jeans, which is suddenly hard. Dean's desire ramps up to eleven, and he braces himself against the counter with one hand and grabs Cas's ass with the other.

Squeezing, Dean leans down and whispers in Cas's ear. "You'd better be planning on following through."

Luckily, that's exactly what Cas has planned.

* * *

 

There's an old saying that if something seems to be too good to be true, then it must be. However, there are always exceptions to the rule, and Dean and Cas are one of those exceptions. Moving into Cas's apartment had been easy. Becoming friends with Cas had been easier still.

Becoming lovers was at once easy and more difficult. Since they acknowledged the heat between them, it was damn near impossible to turn off. Despite the hiccup of Castiel's lie by omission, they fell into each other wholly and with enthusiasm.

If anything, the difficulty was that they were too comfortable, too compatible. Mornings meant that Dean had to wrench himself out of Cas's arms, and their hasty, yet lingering kisses at the door meant Dean got to school a little later than he liked most days.

Not that he would give any of it up. No, being with Cas, sharing his bed meant that Dean was, perhaps for the first time, settled and comfortable. He felt right in his skin and he felt as if Cas at been at his side forever, that he belonged there.

Likewise, Cas began to realize that his exile had been for a reason. If he had not been forced to live among humans by the angelic council, he and Dean might never have met.

Still, there were things that Cas couldn't share with Dean, as they weren't his to tell, not yet. There were decisions that had yet to be made that Cas had no control over, and they hung like a weight around Cas's neck.

They were lying in bed one Saturday morning, ignoring the fact that they really did have to get up and get things done around the apartment. Cas was resting his head on Dean's chest while Dean ran his fingers through Cas's hair. Cas's wings spread out over them like a heavy comforter. Dean's touch was so soothing that Cas was practically purring and arching into Dean's hand.

"Cas?" Dean asks.

"Hmm?" Cas hums in response.

"You said there are millions of angels, right?"

Cas nods.

"So where are they? Are they all here?" Dean shifts minutely so he can run his fingers through Cas's wings instead. Cas shivers at the touch.

"Mm, no. Most of them live in the angel community. It's hidden," Cas replies, and he sinks into Dean's touch. "Dean, if you keep doing that..." He sucks in a breath and groans. "Oh, never mind, keep...ung, keep doing that."

Dean chuckles. "Sensitive, are they?" He closes his fist around a handful of feathers and squeezes lightly, eliciting another groan from Cas. "If they're hidden though," Dean says, returning to the question at hand. "Then how come you're here?"

"Dean," Cas moans, a full, throaty sound that sends electric sparks straight to Dean's groin. He's almost tempted to stop, because he wants to know the answer to his question, but on the other hand, knowing that he’s pleasing Cas, that Cas is writhing on top of him because of his hands... Dean doesn’t want to. He begins to run the fingers of both of his hands through Cas’s wings, and Cas keens at the sensation, his hips now undulating sinuously against Dean’s thigh.

“You like this.” It’s not a question, because the answer is clear. But to be sure, Dean stills his hands, leaving them to hover in the feathers.

“Dean,” Cas says, glaring up at him, his voice dark with need and desire. “I told you not to stop.”

Dean laughs and leans down to kiss Cas, flattening his palms against the feathers and dragging them slowly down the wings. He increases the pressure as he goes, and Cas’s moaning and panting becomes more intense, his hips moving more quickly now. Cas shifts so he’s on top, and slots their cocks together. Dean thrusts his head back against the pillow at the sensation. They move against each other, foreheads together now as they spiral up up up into their release, which bursts upon each of them suddenly, Cas first and Dean following quickly after.

They lie quietly, breathing heavily. Dean kisses Cas’s forehead, then one of his cheeks, and they settle into each other. It’s silent for a very long time, and Dean thinks that Cas has fallen asleep, so he’s surprised when Cas answers his question. “I was exiled.” It’s a subdued response.

Dean props himself up on his elbows so he can see Cas’s face. “What?”

“Exiled.” Cas sighs and sits up, rubbing his face. “I can’t tell you everything Dean, partly because I don’t know all of it yet, and partly because it’s not my place to.” He pauses, waiting for Dean to nod. Cas tries not to be distracted by the picture that Dean makes in his bed, face still flushed from their lovemaking, hair rumpled, the smell of sex still strong in the air. If they’re going to talk about this, he needs to focus.

Shifting away from Dean slightly, Cas begins his story.

* * *

 

As the youngest son of the most prominent angel family - the Miltons - Castiel is meant to inherit the position of leader of the angel community. Up until now, he’d been in exile among the humans, and while Cas is fairly certain that he knows who exiled him, he doesn’t share that information just yet.

Tradition and prophecy say that in an angel family with six children, it’s the youngest who will inherit, who will be the next true leader of the community.

Cas laughs sourly at that. “Most angel families have two children at the most. For our parents to have six, for anyone to have six in our community is...” He shrugs. “Unusual.”

So as Castiel’s mother had her third child, there was mild interest. When her fourth came, then the fifth, excitement grew among the community. When Castiel was born, well.

There was at once a great celebration and a huge uproar. For now people began to wonder if the prophecy would actually come true. There was no precedent for this, not in the entirety of angelic history, and it was a long history, perhaps longer than human history.

Dean raises his eyebrows at this. "Really?"

"Angels live a very long time, Dean."

"Do I want to know how old you are?" Dean asks.

Cas smiles, a sly thing. "Let's just say that if we were a human couple, people would accuse me of robbing the cradle."

"Huh," Dean says, not certain how to respond to this. "Uh. Is that a problem?"

"For me, no. For you...?" Cas trails off.

Dean licks his lips as he thinks about this. There are so many ways to answer the question, most of which lead down a path that Dean's not sure he wants to travel just yet. This thing with Cas is still new, just a couple of weeks now, and he's not sure where it's going, where he wants it to go. That being said, the question at hand should be easy to answer, right? Dean shrugs mentally. "No. No problem." And as soon as he's said it, he realizes that it's true, that he doesn't care, not really.

Doesn't mean he's not curious as hell.

"So, go on. What's this prophecy?"

It takes a while for Cas to get started on the prophecy. It's been such a part of angel history and tradition, and Cas hasn’t shared this part of him with anyone who wasn’t an angel before. He wasn't sure how to handle that. He shifted slightly so he was on his side, head leaning on his hand. He rested his other hand on Dean's tummy, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Dean’s breath.

"When the youngest son of six is born, there will come a great storm. The son will lead the community through the great storm to the other side," Cas says, his eyes closed as he thinks about all the times he's heard this prophecy read, stated, even intoned by other angels. Every single one of them has done so with an eye firmly fixed on him, expecting great and wonderful things from him.

Sometimes he wonders if they'd be smarter to expect great and terrible things from him instead.

"What's that even mean? A great storm?" Dean asks, and Cas just shrugs in response.

"I don't know. I'm not really good at that kind of thing. I'm not even really convinced that the prophecy is about me."

They lay there quietly for a few minutes. Dean stares at Cas, while Cas studiously avoids looking at Dean, instead choosing to keep his focus on Dean's stomach. Admittedly, it's a very nice stomach, and he's enjoying feeling the warmth beneath his hand, the slight twitching as Dean responds to Cas's touch. Cas isn't really doing anything except for keeping his hand still, but it seems to be affecting Dean anyway.

"What does Michael have to do with it all?" Dean asks eventually. "And how come it's the youngest son and not the eldest?"

Cas thinks about that for a moment. For everything that he's read and learned about human society indicates that the pressures of society are almost always placed on the shoulders of the eldest son. That the eldest is the one responsible for the inheritance of the family, and the one responsible for those younger. "I don't know why, but I think it might have something to do with the fact that angels live for so long." Cas moves his hand, sliding it up Dean's torso to his chest now, and he can feel the thumping of Dean's heart beneath his palm. Dean's breathing increases slightly as Cas does this, and Cas looks at him now, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Cas," Dean says, and it's deep and dark, husky, like the words had to elbow their way out of Dean's throat. He lays his hand on top of Cas's. "You're gonna be the death of me, man."

Cas leans over and kisses Dean. "Good."

* * *

 

Each morning it gets harder and harder for Dean to get up and go to work, not because he doesn't want to go to work, but because he doesn't want to leave the bed, Cas, home. He's feeling settled in a way that he hasn't in a long time, not even when he was in his old apartment, not when he was in ed school, planning for the next move.

All his life has been planning for that next step, and now he just wants the world to slow down, to stop so he can enjoy what he has now. Each moment seems to flow slowly and quickly all at once, leaving him at once happy and not nearly satisfied enough.

He arrives at school early, whistling, thinking about nothing in particular, trying to separate his working life from his new home life, keeping memories and thoughts of Cas (and his scent, his skin, the feel of his fingers on Dean's body) locked away in a vault in his mind because the thoughts are distracting.

He's successful most of the time.

When he gets there, Samandriel is waiting for him outside his classroom.

"Hey Samandriel, how are you?" Dean asks as he unlocks his door. Samandriel gives him a hesitant smile and shrugs his enormous backpack further up his back. It's almost as large as he is, and Dean often wonders if he poked Samandriel with just enough pressure, would Samandriel tip over?

"Great, thanks, Mr. Winchester." Samandriel follows Dean into the classroom and lets his bag fall with a thud.

"Dude, it sounds like you've got a bunch of bricks in there," Dean says, busying himself with getting the classroom ready for the day. He makes sure his copies are ready for the lesson, and sets aside the essays he graded so he can hand them back.

Samandriel smiles shyly, looking up at Dean through his long bangs, which seem to perpetually fall in his face. "Um, Mr. Winchester?" Samandriel shifts from one foot to another.

Dean looks at his student and realizes that Samandriel needs something, perhaps something important from him. He leans on the corner of his desk and folds his hands together. "What's up?"

Samandriel seems suddenly fascinated with his sneakers, and he has a hard time looking up at Dean. "Um, well." He shuffles his feet. "Iknowyouknowaboutangels." The words come out in a rush that Dean can't quite decipher.

"Sorry?" He asks, leaning forward.

Samandriel rubs the back of his neck, his face as red as the t-shirt he's wearing. "I know you know about angels," Samandriel says more slowly, and the statement seems to ground him a bit. He's finally able to look at Dean, and he looks hopeful and terrified all at once.

Dean's feeling a bit of the second emotion himself, wondering what it is exactly that Samandriel knows about him, about Cas. He swallows. "Um. Yeess?" Dean answers, and he curses himself, because hello, lamest response ever.

"And you're cool with that? Angels, I mean?" Samandriel asks.

Dean nods slowly, and then a bit faster as the real reason for this conversation occurs to him. "You're... You're an angel?"

"Uh, yeah. No one else knows, but I... well, I thought that I could tell you. You're cool, Mr. Winchester."

Dean smiles at Samandriel's words. "Thanks, Samandriel. You're pretty cool yourself."

Samandriel smiles shyly and picks up his bag. "But I don't want..."

Dean nods his head. "Say no more." He licks his lips. "How'd you know that I know..?"

Samandriel shrugs. "The angel community is pretty tight knit. My parents are friendly with the Miltons, and there's been a lot of talk about the prophecy coming true." Samandriel looks uncomfortable for a moment. "Especially since now you know. About angels, that is." Samandriel stares at Dean for a moment and then hoists his enormous backpack onto his shoulders. "I have to get to class now, Mr. Winchester. I'll see you later."

"Yeah," Dean says distractedly, his hand raised in a half wave. What was all that about, Dean wonders.

* * *

 

Cas's mornings have taken on a dreamy quality, where he gets to wake up obscenely early to Dean, to soft kisses and roaming hands, and Dean's obvious desire to stay in bed with Cas warring with his sense of responsibility about his job. Cas doesn't want to be that person in the relationship who pouts when the other person goes off to do their thing, but it's really hard to let Dean out of bed.

He's comforted by the fact that it's fairly clear that Dean feels the same way.

So Cas wakes early with Dean, and they have the precious few moments together before Dean has to get up and shower. They share their coffee as always, only now they stand close together, barely an inch of space between them as they share a quiet breakfast. Cas doesn't go back to sleep anymore, because his schedule has become more in synch with Dean's, and instead, he showers after Dean has left. After his shower he makes another cup of coffee and goes into his study to write.

Cas has been a freelance writer for 15 years now, and has been published online and in a number of magazines in both the angel community and the human world. His writing is decent, good even, and he enjoys the process. But recently he's not been working on anything for publication. His writing has been more personal, more focused on the angel community, and how he might get them to relax some of their misgivings about joining the human community. Living with Dean, being with Dean has made it easier for him to get his thoughts about this down on paper.

He's more convinced than ever that humans and angels are meant to live side-by-side and not one in ignorance of the other.

Most mornings, he gets wholly absorbed into his writing and doesn't break out of whatever spell his writing has on him until his stomach growls at him loudly or Ash yowls at him, demanding his own lunch and perhaps some attention. In either case, he drags himself away from his desk reluctantly, feeds the cat, feeds himself, and then goes back to it.

Today, however, he's distracted by his phone, which he had left on the counter the night before has not one, or even two, but five voicemail messages on it. He frowns and picks it up, looking at the device as if he'd never seen it before - he never receives this many messages. Not ever.

Upon listening to his voicemail, he realizes why there are so many messages. There are two each from Gabriel and Anna and the last one is from Michael. Cas listens the messages from Gabriel and Anna with a growing sense of unease as they exhort him to call them as soon as possible, but it's not until he hears Michael's voice mail that he realizes just how much the shit has hit the fan.

Michael has called a council of the elders, and is going to challenge Castiel's right to inherit.

He's staging a coup.

* * *

 

For Dean, the hardest part about the last few weeks was not actually that there was anything difficult at all, but rather that it was so easy. The change in living arrangements, the new roommate, even the damn cat, adapting to all of that should have been much harder than it really was. But it felt like it was home, and it felt that way much sooner than it did when he'd moved into his last place.

There was just that odd sense of rightness that Dean couldn't quite figure out. There was no rhyme or reason to it, it just felt. Right. Being with Cas is easier than Dean ever thought possible, despite the whole "Cas is an angel thing."

It's not perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination, because they are living together, because no relationship is easy. Because yes, Cas is an angel. Because Dean is human. But they like each other enough to work on the difficult bits.

He was sleeping better than he had in years - no more nightmares about his mom, or even his dad - he hadn't had one of those since he'd moved in. He'd expected to have nightmares about fire again, like he'd had when he was a kid, but he didn't. It was the strangest thing, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The routine that he and Cas had developed went a long way toward making the apartment seem like his home, too, so he was more than grateful to Cas about that.

Of course, that was about when it all went to shit.

A few days after he'd met Cas's douche of a brother Dean’s sitting at a coffee shop around the corner grading some papers. He'd wanted to get some work done, but sort of knew that he really wouldn't get much done if he were at home. But he just had to get out of the school building because he felt like he was crawling the walls.

A shadow falls across his papers, and he looks up, annoyed that someone is blocking his light. He can't quite see who it is because of the flare of light behind them, so he blinks a little bit and clears his throat. When the person doesn't move, they just stand there staring down at him, he leans over so he can try to get a better look.

It's the same old woman from before, looking, if anything, worse for the wear. Her eyes are milky with age, and her fingers look even more crabbed and painful.

Dean swallows, mouth suddenly dry. "Can I help you?" he asks, hoping that maybe he's just imagining the woman, and that it's actually one of the baristas from behind the counter.

No such luck.

She opens her mouth and speaks, her voice creaky with age. "It’s all right you know. What you have." She stares down at him as if waiting for a response, and then repeats herself. “It’s all right.” She turns on her heel and stalks out of the coffee shop. Dean scrambles up and shoves his papers into his bag and runs out of the shop after her, but she's nowhere to be seen. It's as if she'd vanished the second she left the shop. He scrubs his face with his right hand, suddenly weary beyond measure.

He's not going to get any more work done tonight, so he heads back home, walking slowly. Maybe he'll catch a glimpse of her and can ask her what the hell she's talking about.

Frank's at the door when Dean gets home, and as he lets Dean into the building, he frowns a bit. "You all right there, boy? Only you look like you've seen a ghost."

Dean shrugs. "Maybe, Frank. Is Cas home?"

Frank just shakes his head. "Haven't seen since I got on, but it's only been about an hour."

Dean nods distractedly and checks the mailbox. It's full, which means that it hasn't been emptied since at least yesterday, if not the day before. Dean doesn't always check the mail, though, so it could be anybody's guess as to when it was last checked.  There's nothing of interest in the mail, just some bills and flyers, so he stuffs it in his satchel along with his neglected papers.

The apartment is empty when Dean gets upstairs, and he tosses his keys onto the hall table. He dumps out the mail and rests his satchel against the half wall that separates the kitchen from the dining area and opens the fridge. Staring into it, he really sees nothing that might be tempting for dinner, even though there's all manner of food in there. He's still shaken by what the crone had to say, and he can't shake the uneasy feeling he's had since she stopped by his table.

He settles for a beer and pops the top on one before settling in the living room on the couch. He leans back against the cushions and closes his eyes, letting his breathing slow. Maybe his brain will slow down enough to make sense of what just happened.

He sits like that for maybe 15 minutes before he realizes that the apartment isn't just devoid of human life, but also feline life. There's been no indication that the cat is in the apartment at all, which is a little weird, since the cat seems to enjoy settling by his side whenever he sits on the couch, much to his chagrin. He sits up and puts the beer on the coffee table before searching around the living room for the cat.

No sign of him. Dean's door is closed, so he didn't think the cat was in there, but Cas's door is ajar. He pokes his head in the room, but doesn't see the cat. The bed is made, and normally the cat might be resting on the end of it, but the room is empty.

The closet door is open, though, and Dean notices with a frown that there are very few clothes left hanging in the closet and several empty hangers. Dean checks out the bathroom and notes that Cas's toothbrush and razor are gone too.

Back in the kitchen, the cat's food bowls are gone, and the brand new bag of cat food that Cas bought over the past weekend is missing as well.

Cas and Ash are both gone.

* * *

 

Two days.

It's been two days since Dean last saw Cas, and he hasn't heard a thing. The cat's gone too.   Dean's not really fond of the cat, but the apartment feels off without any other living creature in it. Dean finds that he's even longing for Ash.

Dean goes through his daily routine, heading out to work, teaching, helping out his students, grading papers. He comes home much later on the second day because he doesn't like being alone in the apartment, not when it used to be so filled with Cas's presence.

Weird how quickly he got used to Cas, how much Cas filled the spaces in the apartment. Quiet, unassuming, but funny as hell and wickedly smart, Cas is the kind of person you'd normally overlook if you saw them in the street, with the exception of his extraordinary good looks. He's beautiful, not that Dean would admit that out loud to anyone. The wild dark hair accentuates the light skin, and startling blue eyes pop out of his face. The eyes are wise and kind, and more than once, Dean has found himself staring at them, unable to tear his gaze away.

But it's not just the beauty of the man, but also his personality. He's confident and self-assured about most things, ready with a small smile or even a quick grin, and he always looks at whomever he is speaking to with an intensity that tells the other person that they are incredibly important in that moment to Castiel.

Or, at least, that's how Dean feels under Castiel's unwavering gaze.

And normally, Dean would find it unnerving to say the least, but he doesn't. Didn't.

But now Dean is worried, and he isn't sure what to do. He has no way of getting in contact with anyone in Cas's family - there's Gabriel, but Dean never knew his phone number, and there's also Michael, but Dean has a suspicion that Michael's part of why Cas is gone.

For the fourth time (that day), Dean tries Cas's cell phone, but once again, there is no response. Dean grips the phone tightly, bruising the inside of his palm.

Being with Cas is easier than Dean ever thought possible, despite the whole "Cas is an angel thing."

Dean's surprised himself with the fact that he's been willing to wait so long before doing something about the fact that Cas is gone. He scrubs his face as he faces the empty apartment yet again, and he wonders what his choices are. He doesn't know how to contact anyone in Cas's family. He doesn't have any of their cell phone numbers, and a cursory search of Cas's study reveals no phone numbers, just Cas's writing.

Dean is curious about what Cas has been working on, but there are far more pressing matters.

Dean sits on the couch, cellphone clasped between his hands and leans forward. There should be an answer, a solution to figuring out what's happened. The thing is he has no real reason to think anything's gone wrong, except for the fact that Cas is gone. That Cas has been gone for two days now, and it's not like Cas.

He's leaning his forehead on his hands when his phone rings, startling him. He drops the thing in his fumbling to pick it up before the caller hangs up. He grasps it and turns it on, practically shouting his greeting.

"Mr. Winchester?" the voice is young, impossibly young and it sounds a bit nervous and scared.

"Yeah?" Dean responds, and as he tries to calm his pounding heart, he realizes that it sounds like a student. One of his students is calling him? On his personal cell phone? It's not a number he gives out, so he's not sure how this is possible.

"Mr. Winchester, it's Samandriel. We. We need your help."

"Samandriel, how..." Dean begins.

"It's Castiel, Mr. Winchester. Mr. Milton. You need to come over to my house, because there's something happening, and we need you."

Dean is up and grabbing his keys before Samandriel has even finished talking, and he's walking out the door. He demands directions from the young man - angel, he corrects himself - and has the Impala fired up and pointing toward Samandriel's home before he even consciously realizes what he's doing.

When Dean pulls into Samandriel's driveway, the place is very obviously in an uproar. Every light is ablaze, there are several other cars parked in the driveway and at the curb in front of the house. Samandriel is on the front porch, waiting for Dean, and he steps forward as soon as Dean is out of the Impala. Following close behind Samandriel are Hester and Inias.

"Guys? What's going on?" Dean asks. They all begin talking at once, and none of it makes any sense. He can make out Cas's name, and maybe Michael's but he's confronted with a wall of anxious teen-aged voices, and he can't make heads or tails of it.

Finally, he holds up his hands. "Guys," and the sound is sharp enough that they all break off abruptly. "One at a time." Samandriel looks at Hester and Inias, who nod.

The story is disjointed and discombobulated, and Dean isn't sure that he's got all of it, but the gist of it is that Cas is gone because he's had to return to the heart of the angel community in order to deal with his brother who has taken steps to try to take over. None of the teens are at all certain how Michael intends to carry out his plan, whatever that might be, they just know that Cas has left to deal with it.

"Deal with it, how, exactly?" Dean asks. He does his best to maintain his patience, because flipping out right now isn't going to help matters, not at all, and what he really wants to know is where is Cas?

Samandriel shrugs, and after a quick glance at Hester and Inias, they shrug too. When it becomes clear that there's no further information coming from the teens, Dean rubs his thumb on the side of his mouth. "Okay. Okay. Samandriel, do your parents know what's going on? Can I talk to them?" Samandriel nods and leads Dean, Inias and Hester into the house. There are crowds of people there, mostly milling around quietly, speaking to each other in hushed tones. It's a little weird, because Dean was expecting something much different - pandemonium, perhaps? Given the tenor of Samandriel's call, and Dean's increasing anxiety about Cas being missing, this subtle hum of activity is not at all what Dean had in mind.

Samandriel drags Dean over to two older angels, an attractive, sedate woman with silver hair and grey eyes, and an equally attractive balding man with hazel eyes who is a bundle of energy, bouncing on his heels. He grins at Samandriel and holds his hand out to Dean.

"Mr. Winchester, it's good to see you again. We met you at Back to School Night."

Dean smiles and nods as if he remembers, shaking the man's hand. He met hundreds of parents that night, and it was several months ago, so he's lucky that he remembers meeting any of them. This man looks vaguely familiar, but he thinks that's more because he's very obviously Samandriel's father; the family resemblance is striking. Dean tries to grin, and realizes that it probably ends up looking much more like a grimace than anything else. "Call me Dean," he says, hoping that makes up for the incredibly awkward smile that he's got on his face at the moment.

Samandriel's father smiles back at Dean, a thin thing that barely reaches up to his eyes, and Dean can see the exhaustion there, the barely contained worry that hunches the older man's shoulders up around his ears.

"Zadkiel. We appreciate you coming here, Dean." He pauses, wiping his hands on the front of his khakis. "I don't know how much you know about what's going on here..." he trails off, waiting for an answer. Dean just shakes his head, wanting to get as much information as possible. Zadkiel launches into a version of the same story Cas had told. The major difference between Cas's version and Zadkiel's is how dire the situation really is. Cas's desire to join the angel community with the human one isn't just a passing fancy, but one based in need - the two communities need to be together, because without each other, they will both come extinct.

"Extinct?" Dean asks, stunned.

Zadkiel nods. "Well, not extinct, exactly. Thousands of years ago, we lived together as one community. Some angels and humans decided they wanted to go their separate ways. To split us up.

"We were never meant to be apart, angels and humans. Angels live for so long and have so few children... There aren't that many of us left. I think we were meant to intermarry with humans, to have and raise children together. Samandriel's mother is human," Zadkiel says, nodding to the stately woman beside him.

"Samandriel is only half-angel?" Dean asks, more out of a need to slow down the other man's - angel's - narrative a bit, to try to ground himself in some semblance of - what - reality?

"Yes. And Castiel thinks - and I agree - that he's very much the future. Michael and his followers don't like that idea at all."

Samandriel, Hester, and Inias had joined them, and they were standing nervously next to Dean. Dean senses rather than sees Samandriel's reaction to his father's words, a full body shudder that's accompanied by a wide-eyed look of panic. It's as if Samandriel has just realized how dangerous the situation really was.

"So where's Cas? What's this go to do with me?" Dean demands. He's determined to do what he can, but on the other hand, he's a school teacher. What could he possibly do that could be of any help at all?

"Michael has Castiel," Zadkiel hesitates. "And we're not sure how you fit in. We just know that you do."

"So, what, I just go charging in like Indiana Jones? I keep hearing that Michael "has" Cas, but I don't know what that means. I don't know what you are expecting me to do." Dean doesn't mean for his voice to rise, but it does, because he's uncertain about what's going on, and frankly, more than a little apprehensive about what it is that they expect from him. He's just becoming comfortable with the idea that there are angels, and now he's expected to play a role in this Greek tragedy. His roommate slash boyfriend is missing, and he's got essays to grade. How, exactly, is he expected to deal with any or all of this?

"I think I can help," says a voice behind him. It's soft, but high pitched, slightly nasal but not unkind. Dean turns and sees a pale woman with huge brown eyes and bright red hair. She smiles at him and holds out her hand. "I'm Anna, Castiel's sister."

Dean takes her hand and returns her greeting. He tries, but fails to find any family resemblance between Anna and her brother. Anna notices his scrutiny, but ignores it in favor of the problem at hand.

"Castiel is with Michael," Anna says, and it's all Dean can do not to roll his eyes, because they've been over this. Again and again. He knows where Cas is. He needs to know what he is supposed to do about it. "And I can take you to him."

"That's great, but I still don't know..."

Anna just shakes her head sharply and grabs onto his forearm. "We'll talk about it on the way. I have a plan, and I just need you to follow my lead." She starts tugging Dean toward the front door, and they're out on the lawn before Dean even has a chance to protest.

* * *

****

"Michael, I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish," Cas says for what must be the hundredth time. He came to see Michael two - no - three days ago, and Michael has managed to keep him a virtual prisoner ever since.

There's no reply. There hadn't been one the previous ninety-nine times, so Cas isn't really surprised.

Under the guise of wanting to discuss matters "like adults", Michael had ushered Cas into a side room, hidden in the deep recesses of Michael's massive home. Cas didn't visit Michael's home all that frequently, so he frankly wasn't that sure he'd be able to find his way to the front door, even if he could figure out a way to get out of the windowless room. Cas was glad of the fact that Ash was with him though, for the company, if nothing else.

At least the rooms they were in were fairly spacious. Michael had given him a pair of adjoining rooms plus a small bathroom. Though there were no windows, the rooms were decorated cheerfully, with lots of lamps and bright colors designed ot lighten the room. None of that does anything for Cas's mood, though.

He's spent most of the past two days pacing back and forth, practically wearing a hole in the (presumably expensive) carpeting. Occasionally, food and water appear, both for Cas and for Ash, which is surprising. Cas feeds the cat each time, but only drinks the water and eats a minimal amount - just enough to keep up his strength.

With each passing day, though, his morale sinks lower. He wasn't hoping to be rescued, but he was thinking he'd be released. Neither options look very likely at this point.

On the first day, Michael joined him at dinnertime - or at least, that's what Cas had assumed it was, given that the meal Michael brought with him was roast chicken and steamed vegetables. Michael ate heartily while Cas picked at his meal, and they stared each other down, daring the other to be the first to break the silence. Michael left as soon as his food was gone, and hadn't returned since.

Cas continues his pacing up and down the room, and keeps up a steady monologue as he goes, mostly for entertainment purposes. Cas starts with a synopsis of the story of Hamlet, unsubtly emphasizing the murder of Claudius and the ensuing bloodbath that comes at the end of the play. He moves on to Macbeth and then the Merchant of Venice, entertaining himself as he recites his favorite scenes. Because of the solitude, he begins to go a bit mad around the same time Lady Macbeth does, and he finishes up her "Out, damned spot" soliloquy in a Russian accent. The only response he gets in an opened eye from Ash, who returns to sleep with a twitch of his ear.

Cas is bored. As kidnappings go (not that he has a lot of experience with them), this one leaves a lot to be desired. Michael’s found a way to dampen his Grace, so he can’t fly out of there. Other than summarizing and quoting Shakespeare and pacing, there's not a whole lot to do.

Well, there's thinking.

And Cas does a lot of that, too. he thinks about his exile, he thinks about the responsibilities he'll have once he has to lead the angel community, and he thinks about Dean.

He thinks about the solid comfort that Dean's presence provides, not just physically, butalso mentally. Cas was always aware of the low frequency hum of Dean's soul against his own Grace, and how the feeling grew stronger the closer they were.

Cas misses Dean; his warmth and humor, his smile, his scent - leather and soap - and he wishes that he'd left a message or a note for Dean before he'd left.

Cas idly wonders if Dean misses him. No matter how this whole thing turns out, at the very least, Cas is going to owe Dean an explanation.

Cas plops down on the couch, disturbing Ash, who stretches and jumps down, the tip of his tail curved into an apostrophe of irritation.

If Cas were truly honest with himself, he would admit that all he really wants to do is return home and go back to his writing. To have his evenings with Dean where Dean grades papers and groans about his students' mistakes while Cas writes. They'll sit, side by side on the couch, hips, thighs and  knees touching, arms brushing against each other as they work.

They had actually developed a system of incentives to help Dean get through his pile of essays: for every five he completed, Cas would kiss him, long and deep. Completing an entire class would result in Cas putting his laptop on the coffee table while Dean put away the papers. Cas would climb into Dean's lap and they would kiss each other until they couldn't stand the feel of all the layers of clothing between them. Cas would grab Dean's hand and pull him down the hall toward the bedroom, and after they'd made love, they would fall asleep in each other's arms, Cas's wings curled protectively around Dean.

Cas sighs and shakes his head. It will do no good to think about Dean now, when there's no way for him to get out of the rooms he's locked in.

He rests his hand on Ash's head, and the cat chirrups a response before shifting slightly and falling back into a doze. Cas envies Ash a little bit right now, because the cat can sleep peacefully, while Cas's days and nights are long, the hours filled with worry.

Lunch and dinner arrive in their due time, and he's served the food with little fanfare. As imprisoned as Cas is, Michael is doing enough to see that Cas's basic needs are met. There's still some sense of family there, Cas thinks dryly. If he were anyone else, he very much doubted he would receive the same treatment.

Cas searches the rooms occasionally, looking for ways out, secret passageways, hidden phone lines, anything he could use to effect an escape, but Michael has been thorough.

Cas has been removed from the scene and placed here to rot until Michael can further his own interests.

It's not until much later that night that Cas realizes that he hasn't seen Ash since the dinner dishes were picked up.

* * *

 

 

Dean hurries after Anna, who's striding purposefully down the lawn toward the street.

"Where's your car?" Anna asks over her shoulder.

"Over there," Dean says, pointing at the Impala, which is gleaming in the light from the street lamp. He loves his car, rebuilt her from the ground up after the accident that killed his father. Anna comes to stand by the passenger side door, waiting for Dean to let her in, which he does. She makes no comment, just pulls the door shut and settles into the seat. It's unusual not to hear some kind of comment about the car, so Dean's surprised, but he figures she's occupied by her family worries.

"Where are we headed?" Dean asks as he slides behind the wheel.

"I'll direct you, " She says, and though her voice has a high, floaty quality, there's a note of steel underneath. Dean makes a mental note not to get on this woman's - angel's - bad side.

“Mr. Winchester, wait!” Samandriel is running toward the car. Anna suppresses a sigh of irritation as Dean rolls down his window.

Samandriel leans down and says, “Will you text me? To let me know Castiel is okay?”

Dean nods and holds his cell phone out to Samandriel, who takes it and taps in his phone number. “Thanks Mr. Winchester.” Samandriel grins. “Castiel is an old family friend. I’m glad he found you.” Dean feels red creeping up the back of his neck, but just holds out his hand for his phone. Unaccustomed to discussing his love life with anyone, let alone a student, he just tips a tiny salute at Samandriel, rolls up his window and eases the car away from the curb.

The ride is silent other than occasional directions from Anna to turn at an intersection. She directs him to a suburb beyond Evanston, one where the old money of Chicago lives. The houses are set back from the road and on enormous plots of land. Dean feels increasingly uncomfortable, a slight buzzing beneath his skin that makes him feel like he's being watched.

Dean parks and they get out. The aura of old money and exclusiveness hangs in the air, and many of the houses are surrounded by high brick walls.

Anna leads Dean down the street to one of the few houses that isn't protected by brick walls. It's set far back from the road, and is hidden by a small forest of old growth trees. The branches are bare, since it's late fall, but thick trunks obscure the view of the door to passersby.

There's no indication that anyone is home - no cars in the circular driveway, and no lights shine in any of the windows that are visible from the road, just the brilliant shine of the front door light.

Anna stops and looks thoughtfully at the house, chewing her lower lip. Dean hovers at her side, uncertain about his role here. He's somewhat athletic, but he doesn't think playing baseball and soccer with his friends a few times a week is enough for him to be part of a big rescue effort.

He's about to say as much to Anna when she turns around. "I'm going to go in through the front. You try to sneak in through the back."

"What?" Dean asks. "I don't know..."

Anna heads back to the car and whips out a piece of paper and a pencil. She leans on the trunk and begins to sketch out a plan of the house, ignoring Dean's protests about scratching the paint.

"Look, do you want to get Cas back or not?" She asks in an irritated tone after a few minutes. He nods after a moment, and she returns to the paper. After a few minutes, she's produced a fairly detailed map of the outside. Dean frowns at the paper she's holding out.

"Hold up. That's just the outside. What about inside?"

Anna shrugs. "We have no idea where Cas is. You'll just have to look." She examines Dean for a long, silent moment. Dean tries not to fidget under her gaze. "If you are who I think you are, then Cas will find you." She's walking away before Dean can respond.

"What the..." he mutters. "What the hell does that mean?" Dean asks, but she just makes a shooing motion with her hand. Dean sighs, but moves as quickly as he can around toward the back.

It's dark, and as he gets further from the street, . He steps gingerly, talking under his breath the entire time. "Gonna get myself killed, how do we know this guy doesn't have a massive alarm system?" He navigates around a huge rhododendron bush. "Probably has all the cops in town on speed dial too." This thought makes him pause. "Shit. I could get fired." He groans, but presses forward, continuing to talk to himself, realizing that he most likely looks and sounds like a lunatic.

He reaches the back of the house without any further incident, only managing to trip, but not fall, over a huge root sticking up out of the ground. His palms are sweaty, and he rubs them on the legs of his jeans. He ducks behind a bush and peers in through the French doors that open out onto the patio. There's no one in the room, which is ablaze with light, unlike the rooms at the front of the house.

He tries the door handle, and is unsurprised to find that it's locked. Uncertain about what to do, he casts about him for something that might help get him into the house. The patio is immaculate, no stray stones or rocks that he could break the glass with. Not even one of those fake plastic rocks that hold extra house keys. Dean's not really surprised - does anyone actually use those, anyway? He examines the lock, and realizes that the deadbolt hasn't been shot home, so the only thing keeping him from entering is the door handle.

He reaches into his wallet and pulls out the various pieces of plastic that he carries in there. He briefly contemplates using his school ID, but decides against it, and instead chooses to use the discount card for the supermarket. He slides it between the two doors and wiggles it slightly to push the latch back. It takes much longer to do than it usually does on television, and he actually ruins the card and has to use his gasoline card as well. He puts the two mangled cards back in his wallet and opens the door quietly, wincing preemptively against the clanging of an alarm that he's certain is going to ring out.

There's no sound, which is very strange. "Probably a silent alarm," he says to himself. He inhales a deep fortifying breath. "Here goes nothing. Breaking AND entering. Awesome." He steps inside.

* * *

 

Cas isn't sure what wakes him, but he's suddenly wide awake in the darkened room. He doesn't remember planning on sleeping, but with so little to occupy his mind, he must have drifted off.

He tries to figure out what woke him by listening intently, but he can't hear anything different than the expected noises of the house settling around him. he sits up and turns on a lamp, squinting a bit as his eyes adjust.

He's still alone in the oppressive suite of rooms, and its tomb-like silence weighs down on him. He tries to tamp down the mental image of a tomb, and is not entirely successful. Before panic can fully dig its claws in, he gets up and walks through the entire suite once again. He turns on all the lights and then settles back on the couch.

He hates this couch, which is, of course, all Michael's taste and personality, as are the decorations and the rest of the furniture in the rooms. Black leather and chrome, squared shapes for everything, geometric designs for the sheets. Every room is cold, like Michael himself is.

Cas shudders. He feels like the walls are closing in on him, and while his Grace is dampened - most likely by some sort of binding or dampening spell - the strange sensation that woke him is back. There's the faint hum of something beneath his skin. he forces himself to focus on it, attempting to zero in, and he realizes it's familiar. Unlike everything that's surrounded him over the last couple of days, this feeling is warm and welcoming, though still quite faint.

Cas closes his eyes and lets the feeling wash over him. It's got a taste, musky and spicy at the same time, and there's the smell of ink, sandalwood, and leather. Cas's eyes fly open.

It's Dean.

* * *

 

Once inside, Dean can hear voices coming from the front of the house. One voice is clipped, hard and deep, and the other is higher, feminine, but no less hard. Anna and Michael, then.

Dean looks around the room and realizes he must be in a small library of sorts. The walls are lined in floor-to-ceiling bookcases, which are filled with books. There are two leather wingback chairs in front of a dormant fireplace. The mantel is adorned with several expensive looking knick knacks and an odd looking urn. It has two handles on the side, each looking no larger than the width of a wide thumb. The top of the urn is shaped into a distorted face, and there are black and gold markings on the side.

"All that's missing is the butler," Dean says. There are two other doors besides the one he came through. As he walks toward one, the voices get louder, so he retreats to the other one, where He listens at the door. There's no sound coming from the other side, so he pushes it open a hair and peeks in. It's the kitchen - enormous and empty - and, wondering if he's pushing his luck, he enters.

Dean tries not to be distracted by the kitchen, again, an enormous room with sparkling appliances that look as if they've never been used. There are lashings of counter space and the layout is so well designed that Dean has an almost immediate desire to try it out. He squashes it, and searches the kitchen for something he can use as a weapon. One of the drawers has a fairly heavy, old fashioned rolling pin. He hefts it back and forth between his left and right hands. He played baseball in college. The rolling pin might be shorter than a baseball bat, but the same basic principle applies. This will do.

He turns around to try the other doors leading out of the kitchen, and nearly trips over a small furry animal who is rubbing against his legs.

"Jeeze --" he looks down, and could swear that he recognizes the animal. It's a grey cat with bright green eyes. The cat looks up at him and blinks, the wraps its tail around Dean's leg. It meows and then seems to settle in to wait.

"Shoo!" Dean hisses, but the cat blinks again and doesn't move. Dean moves his leg a bit, trying to nudge the cat gently, but the cat refuses to move. "C'mon, cat..." Dean stops abruptly. Because the cat does actually look familiar. Dean stares down at it for another minute or two, stunned, because he's almost positive this is Cas's cat, that this is, "Ash?"

The cat gives a short meow and to Dean it sounds like an affirmative. The cat stands on all four feet again and goes to sit in front of one of the doors. He looks at Dean expectantly.

Dean scrubs his face, because how is this his life, and more importantly, how is this actually something that he's about to do? He covers his eyes and asks, "Do you want me to follow you?" He creates a gap between two of his fingers and opens his eyes to peek out at the cat, who is now standing at the door.

Okay. So he's going to follow the cat.

The door opens into a flight of stairs going downward, and Dean feels along the wall for a light switch. Just before he flicks it on, he wonders if this is possibly one of the worst ideas he's ever had, but then he just shrugs. He's armed - sort of - and he can sprint if necessary.

"Well, lead on," Dean says to the cat.

* * *

 

Cas spends about five minutes searching the rooms for something - anything - he can use to get the door open. There's absolutely nothing of any use in the space, not even a stray piece of cardboard. He contemplates trying to kick down the door, but it's solid oak. Cas leans against the door to try to see if there's any give to it, but no such luck. He briefly considers throwing himself at it, but changes his mind when he realizes how solid it is. he gives the door a few experimental kicks. His shoe thuds dully against the wood, but the door barely shudders in its frame.

* * *

 

Dean follows Ash down the steps and around the corner into a long hallway. There are several heavy, oaken doors on each side. Dean can hear a muffled thumping come from about halfway down. Ash bounds ahead and comes to a stop in front of one of the doors. He sits and begins to wash one of his front paws delicately. His ear flicks in time with the muffled thumps coming from the other side.

"Is Cas in there?" Dean whispers, and then he clamps his mouth shut. Because he's talking to a cat. "Cas!" He hisses as loudly as he dares. The thumps stop.

"Dean?"

Dean exhales a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Yeah. You okay?"

"Yes. Michael has dampened my Grace. I can't get out."

Dean glances up and down the empty hallway, but doesn't find anything of any use. He looks at the doorknob and then at the rolling pin that he's still holding.

"Cas, stand back from the door, okay? I'm going to try to break the door knob."

"Dean, that will be too noisy."

"You got a better idea, Cas? Cause I don't see one, and I want to get you out of here."

There's silence from the other side of the door for a moment, and then Cas says, "Okay. Just. Be careful."

Dean nods, and then realizes that Cas can't see him. "Yeah, I will." He takes a few experimental swings with the rolling pin, and then brings it down as hard as he can on the door knob. The resulting shock spasms up his arm: it’s much harder than hitting a fastball going almost 90 miles an hour. The door knob is bent at an angle, but not quite knocked off the door. He swings the rolling pin again and this time the door knob breaks off. The knob and a few screws clatter to the ground.

Dean reaches into the hole created by the recently vacated knob and opens the latch. The door swings inward and Dean sees Cas standing in the middle of the room, looking tired and somewhat disheveled, but pleased to see Dean.

They embrace for a long moment. “You didn’t have to come after me,” Cas says after a minute, his voice slightly muffled by Dean’s shoulder.

Dean chuckles. “I should have come sooner. Also, Anna didn’t really give me a choice.”

Before Cas pulls away, he presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s head. Then he arches an eyebrow. “Anna’s here?”

Dean nods. “Yeah.” He’s about to say something about Anna, when he sees the look of alarm on Cas’s face.

“Get down!” Cas shouts, and he shoves Dean out of the way. He barrels out of the door into a man who had been trying to sneak up on Dean. The force of his and Cas’s momentum means that they collide in the center of the hallway, and grapple with each other. Dean comes up behind the stranger and grabs onto his waist to pull him away from Cas. There’s a brief scrum until Dean manages to clock the guy with the rolling pin and knock him out.

They stand in the hallway, breathing heavily. “Come on,” Cas says, grabbing Dean’s hand. He leads the way back out of the basement. “How’d you find me, anyway?” He asks.

Dean squeezes Cas’s hand lightly. “Ash.”

Cas smiles. “I’d wondered where he’d gotten to.” There’s a soft meow from behind them as Ash trails along. Dean takes a moment to send a quick text to Samandriel, as promised. He makes sure his phone is on vibrate before he slides it back into his pocket.

They pause at the top of the stairs, but there’s no sound coming from the kitchen, so they open the door carefully. The kitchen is empty, thankfully. It’s silent on the other side of both sets of doors leading out of the kitchen. Cas looks at Dean, a question on his face. Which door should they use? Dean tips his head toward the door to the study through which he came, his only goal getting Cas (and Ash) out of the house before something else happens. They’ve been lucky - incredibly lucky - so far, but he feels like the longer they stay in the house, the more they run the risk of being caught.

Cas nods, and they creep into the study.

Waiting for them is Michael and Anna, standing side-by-side in front of the fireplace. Michael’s arms are folded across his chest, and he’s wearing a sharp, cold smile that sends shivers down Dean’s spine. “I was wondering how long it would take you,” he says. “I only sent one person after you, was that too much of a challenge?”

Dean doesn’t usually find that he wants to punch people in the face, but he’s always willing to make an exception. Cas squeezes his hand again, as if he can sense what Dean’s thinking. Dean squeezes back and does his best not to let Michael get to him. He knows that’s part of Michael’s game.

“I’ll let you walk away right now, if you let this all go,” Michael says. Anna stays silent beside him, and Dean wonders what exactly is going on here. There’s something off about the dynamic, and he can’t quite figure it out. Cas has manoeuvred himself so he’s standing slightly in front of Dean, and Dean tries not to bristle at this, because he can take care of himself, and anyway, Cas’s Grace is still diminished. Dean’s pretty sure that Cas couldn’t take on a fully powered up angel right now. He shifts on his feet until he’s in a wide stance, feet planted firmly on the ground, in case he needs to act quickly.

“That’s not going to happen, Michael,” Cas responds. “I don’t have any interest in running the angel community...”

Dean sucks in a breath, because what? “You don’t?” he whispers.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs as a warning. “But I won’t let you run it either, Michael. We need the humans.”

Michael sighs, already tired of the conversation. He turns to Anna. “I told you that he wouldn’t listen to reason.”

Anna shrugs, as if this is something she’s expected. “Castiel was always stubborn, you know that Michael.”

Dean waits for Cas to react to this, but Cas doesn’t move a muscle. He’s vibrating with barely controlled anger, but Dean knows that Cas has been holding on to his temper since they first saw each other a little while ago. Dean keeps his mouth shut though, waiting to see where this is going to go.

Cas seems to be waiting for something, though Dean can't tell what that might be. He's more than a little out of his dept here, not even really sure where any of this fits in with Cas's prophecy.

The smile hasn't left Michael's face, and if anything, it's getting bigger. "Do you really think you have enough influence to prevent me? They don't know you Castiel. You've been away too long." Michael's words are measured, controlled. Tension hangs thick in the room, clinging to Dean's skin like a viscous substance. It's like waiting for a heavy storm on a late summer day - the elctricity crackles in the air, which has become heavy with unshed moisture, until the storm finally breaks.

Anna's eyes flicker briefly between her brothers, and Dean wonders where her loyalties lie.

"You're right," Cas says, and even Michael seems surprised at the admission, as if he'd expected there to be much more in the way of verbal sparring. "I don't have that influence. But, I have an audience."

Cas doesn't get the chance to explain what he means, because several things happen at once then. Michael's face twists in anger, the first genuine emotion he'd shown so far. The man Dean had knocked out with the rolling pin stumbles in from the kitchen, his hand pressed to his forehead, and from behind Dean comes the tinkling of broken glass. Something large and heavy thuds to the floor in the middle of the room.

Cas yanks on Dean's hand, pulling him downward at the same time that his wings manifest, huge and dark, in front of Dean's face. There's a loud bang and a blinding flash of light. Michael shrieks, an impossibly high, inhuman sounding that echoes loudly in the room, and then there's silence and darkness.

"What --" Dean starts to say, but one of Cas's wings clips him in the back of the head in warning. Dean's vision is already clouded by light spots, and he's getting a little irritated with Cas for manhandling him so much.

"Castiel?" A familiar voice calls from what Dean thinks might be outside on the back patio.

"Samandriel," Dean says, and he curses under his breath. "What's he doing here?"

"Shh," Cas says to Dean. He raises his voice and says, "In here. We're okay." The glass crunches beneath several pairs of feet as the newcomers enter the study. Cas grips Dean's shoulder briefly and then lets him up. The spots are finally clearing from Dean's eyes, and he takes in the scene.

There's glass everywhere, covering the floor in a carpet of dangerous shards. Several knick knacks from the mantel over the fireplace have fallen to the ground and shattered, including the peculiar urn Dean had seen earlier. Michael is on the ground as well, covered in a fine layer of broken glass, and he's unconscious. Anna's kneeling over Michael's goon, making sure he's all right. And standing just inside the blown-in French doors are Samandriel, Hester, Inias, Emma and, "Victor?" Dean asks, shock making his voice a little higher than usual.

Victor grins and nods at Dean. "All right?" Dean nods slowly, too stunned to say anything.

Cas kneels by Michael, laying a palm on Michael's forehead. "He'll be okay, I think. Anna?" Anna nods, and picks up Michael, disappearing in a flurry of wings.

"Cas? What the hell is going on here?" Dean asks. He looks around for a place to sit, but there isn't any surface that isn't covered in glass. Cas leans over and picks up the pieces of the broken urn, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Not here. Can we go home?" Cas looks tired, and a little bit small; during the confrontation, he'd been solid, assured, but now his shoulders were slumping as if under a heavy burden. Dean cups Cas's cheek to comfort him, and he hears Samandriel, Hester, Inias, and Emma shuffle uncomfortably behind him.

Dean clears his throat. "Yeah, we should do that." He turns to Victor. "How'd you guys get here so fast, anyway?"

Victor jerks a thumb at Inias. "Learning all kinds of interesting things about our students, Dean. Angel express."

Inias gives a small wave of his fingers. "Hey, Mr. Winchester."

Dean lifts his chin in greeting. "You guys going to be able to get back okay?"

Samandriel barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. "Yeah, Mr. W. We got here fine, we can get home." He grab's Hester's hand, and Dean notes the pleased look that grows over her face just before she and Samandriel vanish. Inias takes Emma's and Victor's hand, and they too disappear.

There's a groan from the goon on the ground, and Cas nudges Dean's hip. "We should probably leave." He scoops down and picks up Ash.

Dean takes the broken urn pieces from Cas. "Are we taking this with us?" Cas nods, and Dean takes Cas's free hand in his own. They walk back to the Impala as quickly as they can, and Dean secures the urn pieces in the trunk. Cas opens the passenger door and Ash hops in, leaping onto the back seat, where he curls up and goes to sleep.

Before Cas can get into the car too, Dean puts a hand on Cas's shoulder. "Wait." Cas turns toward Dean, who leans against Cas, pressing him against the rear passenger door of the car. "I can't believe how glad I am that you're okay." He rests their foreheads together. "Is this going to be okay? Is it over?"

Cas's eyes flutter closed, and he circles his arms around Dean's waist, grabbing his own wrist with his other hand to trap Dean against him. "Not yet. Soon, I think."

Dean brushes his knuckles against Cas's cheek and kisses him lightly. "Okay." He pauses. "Okay. Let's go home." They untangle and get into the car.

Frank is manning the door when they get back to their building, and he grins when he sees Cas. "Hey there, Mr. Milton. Good to see you back. This one was missing you," he says, pointing at Dean. Dean just squeezes Cas's hand and pulls him into the elevator.

"Thanks, Frank!" Cas calls as the door slides shut. They ride to their floor in silence, Ash's loud purrs filling the small space. When the elevator arrives on their floor, Dean hurries out first and unlocks the door, letting Cas and Ash back in to their home. Cas goes to the kitchen to put out some food, and then they both head into Cas's room.

They've been basically silent since they'd left Michael's house, neither really wanting to talk about what had happened just yet, and both really too exhausted to think, anyway. They get undressed and slip on pajama pants before climbing into bed, an unspoken agreement that they'll talk in the morning. Cas stretches out his wings and rolls over so he's wrapped around Dean's back, the wings draped over the two of them. He kisses the nape of Dean's neck and they drift off to sleep.

* * *

 

Cas wakes to sunlight streaming in through the windows; they'd neglected to shut the curtain in their exhaustion the night before. He grumbles and rolls over so his back is to the window, and sees Dean blinking awake.

"Morning," Dean says, his voice craggy with sleep. Cas smiles hesitantly, not sure how things are between them. He wants to snuggle back into Dean's arms and he wants to kiss Dean, but he's not sure that's allowed yet. They have to talk first.

"Morning," Cas replies. "Dean, I--"

Dean stretches his arms overhead. "Coffee first, Cas." He presses a light kiss to Cas's cheek. "Then we talk, okay?"

"Okay," Cas says, his stomach fluttering a bit. So it's not completely ruined then.

They troop into the kitchen and Dean makes coffee while Cas pulls out mugs and creamer. They fall pretty quickly back into their morning routine, almost as if the events of last night and the previous few days hadn't even happened, but Cas still can't help waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's one thing to know that your boyfriend is an angel, it's yet another to realize that he's got a ruthless family who might potentially be okay with harming others.

They sit at the table, sipping their coffee quietly for a few minutes. Finally, Dean says, "Talk to me."

Cas takes a fortifying sip of his coffee and straightens his shoulders. "Michael had hoped to change my mind."

"Did he?"

Cas shakes his head. "No. Sort of."

Dean just stares at Cas, waiting for him to go on.

"We have to join the two communities together. We have to, there's no way we can survive without humans. And..." Cas takes Dean's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. "I hope that humans will welcome us. But I don't want to lead. It's never really been something I've wanted. This has just solidified that for me."

Dean looks down at where his and Cas's hands are clasped together for a long moment, but doesn't remove his hand. "So what happens now?"

"Michael will have to go before the Council. He'll have to answer for his actions. He'll be punished. Even if he hadn't kidnapped me, attempting to take power for himself is a serious crime." Cas drinks the last of the coffee in his cup.

"What about Anna?" Dean asks.

Cas laughs, and Dean is struck by how cold the sound is. "She's more ruthless than Michael in many ways, I think. I'm pretty sure she's the one who had me exiled, you know."

"What? How do you know?"

"I don't, not really. But it makes the most sense. She wants to lead as much as Michael does, but she also wants some of the same things for our communities as I do. I once told her in passing that I wasn't sure that I wanted to lead. She probably thought this was one way to help me make up my mind."

Dean snorts. "Helluva family you got there, Cas."

Cas shrugs. "They are what they are. We can't choose who we're related to."

"Hm," Dean says, and he gets up and grabs Cas's cup and his own. He pours them both fresh cups of coffee and brings them back to the table. He's thinking about his dad, though, and about how John made decisions for Dean and Sam that he thought were for the best. They didn't always work out that way. Dean thought he could relate to what Cas was saying.

“What about the prophecy, Cas? You gonna just throw that out the window?”

“Do you remember what I told you when you asked about Gabriel’s question about fate?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “I asked if it mattered to you, and you said no.”

Cas smiles, a warm sensation settling in his belly. “We should be able to choose our own destinies, don’t you think?”

Dean thinks about baseball and teaching, and how angry his dad was when Dean chose to become a teacher instead of a ball player. And then he thinks about Samandriel calling him when they needed help, and how that wouldn’t have happened if Dean hadn’t decided to give up baseball. He clears his throat. “Yeah. We should.”

“I shouldn’t have left without letting you know,” Cas finally says, and Dean just nods, waiting for Cas to go on. “Thank you for coming to get me. You didn’t have to...”

“Yeah, kinda did,” Dean interrupts. “Missed you. But... is this kind of thing going to be a regular occurrence? You being kidnapped and me having to rescue you? Because I’m not sure if...”

This time, it’s Cas who interrupts Dean. Cas clambers into Dean’s lap, holding onto Dean’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leans down and kisses Dean, tongue licking out to trail across Dean’s lower lip. Dean presses against Cas’s back to bring them closer together.

“I’ll try my best not to get kidnapped anymore,” Cas says after a long moment. Dean laughs, and whatever tension had been between the two of them seems to melt away. Cas trails a hand across Dean’s cheek, as if he can’t get enough of the feel of Dean’s skin beneath his palm. Dean leans into the touch.

They’re interrupted by the ringing of Cas’s phone. He leans his forehead against Dean’s and groans in irritation, but he gets up to grab the phone before the call can go to voicemail.

It’s Anna. She talks for a few minutes, and then Cas tells her to hang on a moment, and he puts his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “The tribunal is tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?”

Dean looks startled at the request. “You want me there?”

“Of course. You have a stake in this too. So?”

“Okay.” Dean nods to punctuate his agreement, and Cas lets Anna know that they’ll both be there.

Cas hangs up after a few more minutes of conversation. “Plans for today?” he asks Dean.

Dean shrugs. “Not really. No school. You?”

Cas straddles Dean’s hips. “I need to apologize to my boyfriend for leaving him without so much as a note.”

“That was awfully rude of you,” Dean says. He licks along Cas’s jaw. “How do you plan on apologizing, exactly?”

Cas laughs, and climbs off of Dean, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the bedroom. “I’ll show you.”

* * *

 

The tribunal hall is large and brightly lit. There are already hundreds of angels milling around, wings folded neatly at their backs. Cas and Dean enter at the back of the hall and head to the front, ignoring the looks and whispers as people catch sight of Dean. Cas refuses to let the murmurings get to him though, and he grabs onto Dean's hand as they walk, chin tilted up high.

At the front of the hall is a raised dais with a table, and seated behind it are nine angels. White-haired and wizened, they are all wearing black robes. Their wings are large and varying shades from white to brown to black, and they flutter about behind the angels.

"Aside from the wings, it looks like the Supreme Court," Dean whispers to Cas.

"It's a similar concept," Cas replies. He and Dean choose a seat at one of the benches at the front. At the moment, they are the only two at the bench, and Cas wonders if that's part of an intentional message. He scoots closer to Dean, needing to feel the solid warmth, and Dean rests a hand on Cas's knee. Cas breathes in and out slowly, suddenly nervous. Despite being exhausted from his ordeal, he'd woken up in the middle of the night, hot and restless. He'd tossed and turned for about an hour, until Dean woke up and, seeing how stressed Cas was, whispered his plans for the two of them and their bed (and every other room in the apartment) while jerking him off. Cas fell into a light doze after that.

More than a few angels stop by their bench and say hello, greeting Dean with friendly smiles and telling Cas they're pleased he's back. He nods and smiles at them, exchanging pleasantries, but not revealing anything when the questions become more pointedly about his plans.

They aren't alone on their bench for very long, joined by Gabriel and Anna, Zadkiel, his wife and Samandriel. Zadkiel claps Dean on the back heartily and loudly thanks him for his help.

The tribunal begins shortly after that, and the shift in atmosphere in the room immediate - the buzzing of conversation ends, and all attention is riveted to the front as one of the angels reads out the charges against Michael Milton. Cas listens with half an ear, thinking instead about what he'll say when the council asks him to take his position as leader.

The tribunal moves surprisingly quickly, given the severity of the charges. Treason is the biggest one, and when asked if Cas wishes to pursue the highest penalty, Cas hesitates before nodding. Next to him, Dean sucks in a surprised breath, but Cas just squeezes Dean's knee.

The verdict is guilty, and Michael, sitting calmly in his seat, bows his head. It's as if he expected this to be the outcome. The tribunal breaks to deliberate what the punishment will be, and Cas leads Dean into an empty office and locks the door behind him.

"Cas, what's the penalty?" Dean asks, but he's not certain he wants to know the answer.

Cas shakes his head and backs Dean against the desk, trapping him there by resting his hands on the edge. Cas kisses Dean desperately, needy for assurance, for the calm that Dean's exuding despite the fact that he's in unfamiliar surroundings. Dean's hands settle around Cas's face, cupping Cas's cheeks.

"It's okay, Cas. I've got you."

Cas laughs, but there's a hollowness to it, and he lays his forehead in the crook of Dean's neck. "If they choose..." Cas inhales shakily. "I just condemned my brother to a lifetime as a human."

"Oh."

"It will reduce him." Cas's lips brush Dean's neck softly. "And he will hate it."

Dean closes his eyes, his heart aching at the pain he hears in Cas's voice. "Aside from the fact that he kidnapped you, his own brother - he pretty much did the same to you. He dampened your Grace."

"Doesn't make it right, Dean. What was it Gandhi said? 'An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind'?"

"You're giving him the chance to live, though. He'll have to think about what he's done. It's too good for him," Dean says fiercely.

Cas pulls away to look at Dean, surprised at the vehemence in his words. "You're angry."

"Hell yeah, I am. He tried to hurt you."

"But in the end he didn't," Cas points out. "Thanks to you."

Dean grunts and presses his mouth to Cas's, the kiss soft and chaste. Before can turn into something more promising, Cas's phone beeps.

"They're back," he says after checking the text message.

"That was fast," Dean remarks.

Cas doesn't answer, instead leading Dean back to the hall where everyone else is waiting expectantly for the court to make its decision known.

The nine elder angels file back in, and Michael stands, his hands clasped behind his back.

An angel with pale brown wings stands and reads from a sheet of paper. "It is the decision of this tribunal that Michael Milton, found guilty of kidnapping, treason and an attempted takeover of this community, shall spend the rest of his days as a human."

Cas stiffens, as if he wasn't actually expecting the council to condemn Michael in this way. The hall is silent, so much so that Cas can hear his blood thrumming through his veins.

As the verdict sinks in, the stunned silence is shattered by Michael, who bursts forth with an agonized, "No!" he slumps into his chair, his head in his hands. Though the hall is still, the chief angel of the tribunal bangs a gavel on the dais and calls for order.

Two burly angels guide Michael away, not really needing to restrain him, as he is bowed over in defeat, the former stiff arrogance gone from his posture. As soon as he’s gone, the hall erupts into a cacophony of buzzing conversation, which dies down when the gavel bangs again.

“Castiel,” the angel says, and his voice echoes through the hall. Cas stands up. “Are you ready to take on the mantel of leadership?”

Cas inhales deeply. “No.”

The hall explodes. All the angels start talking at once, questioning what they had just heard, and the noise level rises to the point where even the banging of the gavel can’t be heard. The elder angel stands and his wings puff up behind him as he bellows “SILENCE!” It reverberates through the chamber, and everyone stops talking immediately.

“Explain,” the angel demands.

“I don’t wish to lead the community.” Cas glances back at Dean, who nods once in encouragement. “I know it’s what I’m meant to do, but it’s not what I am good at.”

“Are you forsaking your home?”

Cas laughs. “It’s not really my home, is it? I haven’t lived among you for almost fifteen years.” The smile falls from his face, though, as he speaks again. “I have always been an advocate for combining the human world with our own. I think I can be of the most use doing that. And I want to do that from the human world.”

The elder angel frowns down at Cas, who, to his credit, does not quail beneath the strength of the gaze. “That would leave us leaderless.”

“No. Anna should be your next leader. She is far better suited to it than I am. She’s a natural leader.” Cas turns back to Anna, who comes to stand next to Cas. Whispers begin at the back of the hall and move their way forward, but it is quashed almost immediately by a look from the angel at the dais.

“Anna, do you want to lead?”

“I do, but I think the choice should be given to the community as a whole. Would you want me to lead you?” She asks the hall as a whole, and a slow round of applause begins at the front row and works its way all the way to the back. The sound is deafening, thunderous even, and Anna blushes, her pale skin flaming as much as her hair.

Things moved quickly after that, the council agreeing to let there be an official vote, as millions of angels couldn’t be in the hall all at once. There are several hours of working the details out, followed by more questioning of Cas’s intentions for letting the world at large know about angels. Cas’s plans are ill-formed, but he points out that more and more humans are finding out about angels anyway, from Dean to Victor and a few of the students at Lakeside HS.

By the time the uproar has died down and everyone seems agreed about holding an angelic election and having Anna become not only the acting leader, but also an ambassador to humans, Cas can barely stand he’s so exhausted. Dean’s got an arm around Cas’s waist, virtually holding him up, and he starts inching towards the entrance, trying to get them both out of there before the crowds eat them up. Most of the angels seem apprehensive, but also excited, and Cas decides that all in all, the day ends up in a good spot.

Outside the hall, Dean kisses the side of Cas’s head. “Home?”

“Home,” Cas says with a smile.

****

**Epilogue - Six months later**

Every Sunday, Dean and Cas go out for brunch. They both bring work with them, Dean plowing through a pile of essays while Cas works on the next series of articles about how the angel and human communities are working together and how they can move forward. His articles have appeared in publications around the world, and Cas has been asked to speak at meetings around the world. Cas is happy, and not just because the goal of uniting the two communities seems to have worked out so well, but also because of Dean. Even Gabriel’s remarked on the change in Cas’s outlook, usually laced with innuendo that Cas neither confirms nor denies.

This particular Sunday, they’re at their favorite brunch spot, Tweet, and neither of them have brought any work. They’re sitting on the same side of the booth, thighs touching and rubbing elbows as they eat. They’re so absorbed in each other that they don’t notice they have company until they hear someone clearing their throat.

Dean and Cas look up, and Dean nearly drops his fork in surprise. “What --”

At the same time, Cas says, “Anna, what are you doing?”

Dean stares at Cas, because the person standing at their table is very definitely not Anna. It’s the old woman, and if anything, she’s more wrinkled than ever. “Cas, that’s not Anna.”

“Yes, it is, Dean. You just can’t see beneath... Oh. Anna, what did you do?”

The old woman shimmers slightly, and in her place is Anna, smiling broadly. “I thought you needed a push,” she says to Cas as she sits.

“I needed a push?” Cas says. Dean looks like he’s getting ready to be indignant about Anna’s meddling, but she just holds out her palms in a pacifying movement.

“Well, not really. But I thought if there were a reason for you to want to stay here...”

Dean frowns. “How the hell did you know that we’d...” he points back and forth between Cas and himself.

Anna shrugs. “I didn’t. You guys did that on your own.” She picks up a fork and spears one of Cas’s pieces of bacon. She chews on it thoughtfully for a moment. “It was really pure luck. I figured if you guys didn’t end up meeting then I’d find someone else.” When Anna reaches over to take another piece of bacon from Cas, he swats away her fork with his own.

“Get your own,” he says grumpily. He’s not really sure how he feels about Anna’s intervention. “So how long had you planned on throwing people at me, exactly?”

Anna shrugs again, and eyes Dean’s plate. He pulls it closer to him and glares at her, daring her to try to take anything from it. “It was a passing fancy, really.”

Dean spears the last half of the sausage link on his plate and stuffs it in his mouth. “What are the odds on you finding the one person in the entire city who was actually going to meet your brother?” His speech is a little garbled around the sausage, but Anna seems to understand what he’s saying.

“Doesn’t matter what they are, you guys found each other, right?” She grins. “And it’s not like anyone forced you two together.”

Dean looks at Cas, who stares back. “Guess not,” Dean says, a dopey grin on his face. Cas returns the smile, and Anna rolls her eyes.

“You guys should get a room.”

Cas shrugs. “We get that a lot.”

Dean laughs. “Anna, you can have the rest of my pancakes. I think you owe me at least a breakfast, so you’re buying, right?”

Anna laughs too. She doesn’t mind paying for their brunch this time, not if it means that Cas will have that happy look on his face, one that’s mirrored in Dean’s.


End file.
